Touched by an Angel
by GAKDragonMCP
Summary: This is a rewrite of “Touched,” Buffy’s third to last episode. Now seriously, why would Buffy break into someone’s home when there’s a perfectly good, vacated mansion within walking distance of home and school? COMPLETE! NO SEQUEL!
1. Chapter 1

Touched … by an Angel

Disclaimer: (_n_) a denial of legal responsibility; a written statement embodying this.  
I do not own these characters. The evil little acid-tripping troll – er, Joss Whedon – does. I did not write the material in Chosen, the novelization of the seventh season. That book is published by Simon Pulse, and much of the text in this fanfic is quoted from it.

Summary: (_n_) a brief account of the main points of something.  
This fanfic simply brings Angel to town a little sooner, and cements the reunion between him and Buffy

Spoiler(s): (_n_) a projecting structure on an aircraft wing that increases drag - what the...? I'd better use 'to spoil:' (_v_) to damage as to make useless, etc; to impair the enjoyment of. Or spoilsport: (_n_) a person who spoils the fun of others.  
Spoilers of Buffy season 6 & 7, and Angel season 3 &4. BIG spoilers for the last three episodes of each season

Rating: (_n_) an assessment, an evaluation, an appraisal.  
Rated 'PG: Parental Guidance suggested' .

Feedback: (_n_) information about a product, service, etc returned to the supplier for purposes of evaluation.  
Send all flames, compliments, questions, etc to Be sure to put "Re: Touched" as your subject title or my dad will delete it (waves magic wand and watches all spam disappear).

Author's note: performs a spell that moves Angel's season 4 finale to Monday May 7, 2003 instead of Wednesday May 9 Okay, I've changed nothing on "Home," Angel's season finale. He takes the limo to the cabin, then from there heads straight to Sunnydale. This is a rewrite of "Touched," Buffy's third-to-last episode (I'm sick of all the Spike action, as fun as it was to watch last year). Now seriously, why would Buffy break into someone's home when there's a perfectly good, vacated mansion within walking distance of home and school?

* * *

Buffy walked away from her house, crying. It hurt so much, that they didn't trust her anymore. She pushed her thoughts away and headed down a side street. Her feet knew where to go, a place that demons avoided. It could offer her sanctuary, at least for tonight. 

She approached it from the hilltop, entering a small garden. She dug in the flower bed of the night-blooming jasmine, rooting around near the corner of the planting box. She brushed dirt away from a small tin for Altoids mints. There were, of course, no mints in the box.

Buffy grabbed the old, ornate key, replaced the box, and unlocked the outer gate door leading to the mansion. The lock on the inner oak door had been long broken, ever since Angelus, Drusilla and Spike had moved to the mansion from the factory.

The Slayer walked inside slowly, letting her eyes adjust. She hadn't been here since Angel left, so she didn't know the condition of everything inside.

Except for the layer of dust covering everything, nothing had changed. The kindling was still in the fireplace, items needed to start a fire were on one side of the hearth.

There. That was the spot, where Angel had sat so many nights reading, or brooding. She'd sat there, too, reading Call of the Wild just after Angel had come back from Hell.

The couch was still in the same spot, where she'd once tried to read his thoughts about Faith. And the table –

Oh, dear God, the table was still broken. Buffy unconsciously rubbed her neck, for a scar that was no longer there. That hadn't been there ever since she had to punch her way out of a coffin and crawl out of her own grave. Not since Willow's spell of resurrection had healed her decaying corpse and the scars it had borne. She kind of wanted to keep that one, but it was too late now.

She stepped around the remains of the table and drew back the heavy drapes hanging in the archway. She leaned away from the dust that action dislodged and stepped into the bedroom. Slipping off her shoes, she crawled onto the bed, up toward the pillow.

Buffy flipped one over, to use the dust-free side, and stretched out. She let the thoughts whirl through her head, and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

The black stretch limo pulled to a stop in front of the big mansion on Crawford Street. Angel stepped out before the driver could open his door for him. Grabbing his bag from the seat, he stepped back and glanced at the mansion. Nothing looked out of place, so he should be able to stay here for a few days while helping everybody. 

The driver, Anthony Simpson, shut the open door. Angel slipped a bill into his hand. "Get yourself to someplace safe, Simpson. I'll call you when all this is over."

"Yes, sir. Do be careful, Mr. Angel."

Angel smirked and shook his head, bemused. He'd never get used to that. "I'll try."

Simpson got back in the car, and drove off. Angel watched him go, and looked around at the deserted town. For once, Sunnydale residents had wised up to the fact that they lived on a Hellmouth. The mass exodus must have resembled the flight of the Hebrews from Ancient Egypt.

He headed around to the back of the mansion, to the garden. He walked toward the flower bed closest to the door but stopped when he saw the plant. Jasmine. Night-blooming, just like his – no. Jasmine was not his granddaughter. Mainly because Connor was no longer his son. Angel sighed, reached out and ripped the plant from its roots. Tossing it aside, he dug in the dirt near the ledge.

He found one tin, the red-and-gold cinnamon Altoid mints container he used for the key. He shook the box and frowned at the lack of noise. He dug through the dirt, finding the blue tin he'd been looking for, and the green one he'd completely forgotten about, but no key. He slipped the blue tin into his pocket and the oversized green one into his bag, and got to his feet.

Heading towards the door, he saw the metal gate swing briefly. The oak door was shut tight. He approached it cautiously, sniffing for trouble. One particular scent caught his attention. Why should he smell that one here?

Angel opened the door and stepped in softly. Sniffing, he caught that scent again, but it was stronger in the dusty, uncirculated air of the mansion.

Only one person had been here since he left, four years ago. One who was still here, maybe even sleeping in his bed like Goldilocks?

He set his bag just inside the door and walked over to the bedroom. Taking a deep breath, hoping to use the action to calm his nerves, he slipped behind the drapes.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. "Somebody's been sleeping in my bed, indeed. And she's still here," he whispered.

He walked over, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Buffy?" He shook her, just a bit. "Buffy, wake up."

She moaned. "Go away, Spike."

Angel grinned. "If Spike's been visiting you in your sleep again, I'll definitely have to kill him."

An eye opened, then she rolled slightly and opened both of them. "Angel?" She could scarcely believe that he was here.

"Hi. You look good. Well, better than last I saw you."

"You look good, too."

"You could tell me you're glad to see me."

She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. He leaned into it, then bent down to kiss her lips. Tenderly, at first, but then it built, a long kiss that spoke of years of yearning, and not having, and this solid moment laced with the wait before the fall. Buffy pulled him down to the bed and he followed, stretched out alongside her. Champions share passions others can only dream of, and their kiss could easily have moved a mountain … or sent the world straight to hell.

"Well," he said, as they finally ended the kiss, "I guess that qualified as 'happy to see me.'"

Her eyes shone with the joy of his presence. "Angel, what are you doing … no. Don't even. I just want to bask."

They looked at each other, warm and giddy. The smile was still on Buffy's lips as Angel wrapped his arms around her, burying the one underneath her in her hair and keeping her close with the other. Her arms snaked around his shoulders, her left leg moving up on his thigh, her ankle hooking around his knee.

He groaned into her mouth, his right leg slipping between hers, his left hand cupping her head and his right traveling down her back, over her hip, then back over, reaching down to grab her butt.

She whimpered, grinding against his thigh, rolling onto her back and pulling him with her.

Angel shifted himself on top of her, and started pulling Buffy's shirt out of her pants. When his cool skin touched her flesh, she pushed his hands away and broke off the kiss. "Angel, stop. We shouldn't be doing this."

He rested his forehead on her temple, then began feathering light kisses along her jaw. He traced it back to her ear and kissed the soft flesh behind it. "You're right," he whispered, "we shouldn't. We have too much to talk about." He rolled over, propping his head up on his elbow. "But we could, if you wanted to," he added.

"Wait, do you mean we could…" She widened her eyes and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

He grinned lopsidedly. "Willow left us a copy of the spell she used to restore my soul – since I let this shaman rip it out of me – and Wesley finished translating it the other day. He said there's no loophole, that my soul is permanent. So if you want to… But we do have to talk."

A wild look crossed her face, and she pushed him onto his back. Sliding on top of him, she pulled his shirt over his head, then removed her own. "Talk later. Kiss me now."

He grinned and pulled her head down to his waiting lips.

* * *

((AN: Come on, why should Xander & Anya, Willow & Kennedy, and Faith & Robin have all the fun:) )) 

Buffy woke with a start some time later. Realizations flashed through her head.

She was naked.

She was sprawled across a cold body, also naked.

Judging by the point at which she was still joined to the cold body, it was a man.

She couldn't see who it was because her head was pillowed on his shoulder, her face turned away.

Please, please, please, don't let this be another nightmare. Not like the dreams she used to have, where she made love to a cold body, fooling herself into thinking that it was her Angel, only to wake up next to Spike.

She turned her head, and sighed in relief at the sight of that spiky brown hair she loved. She was going to buy him enough hair gel to keep his hair spiky for the rest of … well, for a couple of decades.

She moved to the side, propping her head on her elbow. She studied Angel's profile as he slept peacefully, a goofy grin on his face.

Doubts ran through her head. What if Wesley was wrong? What if she'd woken before he lost his soul? What if, loophole aside, she hadn't made him happy enough for the curse to even be an issue?

She crawled out of bed and gathered the kindling together in the fireplace. She struck a match against the mantel and lit a fire. She took a flint and lit some candles, then returned to the bed to watch Angel, bathed in the firelight.

As much as she loved seeing him like this, she kind of wished he'd wake up.

As if on cue, Angel started taking air through his nose and stretched. He opened his eyes a crack, then blinked a few times. A soft smile crossed his face when he saw Buffy watching him. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"Morning," she replied, a little self-conscious.

He caressed the forearm of the arm she was leaning on. "Wow. You certainly haven't lost your touch. Don't ever tell me who helped you keep in practice."

She ducked her head and blushed, a delighted smile flickering over her face. He rolled over on his side to face her, leaning close for a kiss.

She sighed happily and kissed him softly. His lips lingered on hers for a moment more before pulling back.

"Mmm," she moaned scooting closer. She cuddled up to him, her head pillowing on his shoulder. Angel wrapped his arms around her, his left hand caressing her back, and his right stroking the forearm draped over his chest.

"Mmm," she started again. "This is heaven," she murmured softly, her breath tickling the fine hairs on his chest.

"Really. Basing that on previous experience?"

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You know what? You're right. This does feel like Heaven."

He craned his neck to look down at her. "Seriously?"

She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "This is the only place I've ever felt safe. It's in your arms, Angel."

He closed his eyes, his lips brushing the top of her head. "That's where I've always felt home, _caraid_."

"I love you."

"I love you, Buffy."

She braced herself. Feeling the tension in her shoulders, Angel made no attempt to move. He maintained his slow, languid stroking of her back.

"There's something I have to tell you. And you're not gonna like it."

Ah, they were going to swap their dark secrets now. "I have something for you, too. Well, a couple of things. I really do have a present for you, and something to help you out with this fight, but I also want you to know some things.

"But, you start first," he continued. "I want to hear your news before you kill me over mine."

She snorted, and tried to find the best place to start. "When I … After I … came back, I needed – that is, I felt… And Spike was-"

"Oh, that. Would it help to tell you I already know most of it?"

She jerked her head up off his chest. "No, that does not help. How do you know?"

"You should tell Dawn she should be a little less informative about her life with people she only knows over the Internet. The 'Liam248' she's chatting with just might be her sister's ex-boyfriend."

Gulp. "Sh-she told you?"

"KeyGirl15," he replied, his cryptic way of affirming. KeyGirl15 was Dawn's IM screen name.

"H-how much?"

"I knew about her kleptomania before you did."

"Did she tell you…" Buffy swallowed.

"About Spike? Yes." There was nothing in his tone of voice to reveal his feelings on the matter.

She gulped again.

"She wasn't the one who told me he tried to rape you, though. That was Xander." Again his voice was even, unemotional.

"Xander told you? When?"

"I hopped on, accidentally using Cordy's account. Xander was saying hi to her, and when he realized it was me, he spilled. He said you were still in the hospital, resting. He was looking for something that might help him find Willow."

"Do you know why I did it?"

"I've heard Dawn's theories. I was hoping you could give me your expert analysis, though."

"I needed to feel. I needed to feel anything but the emptiness."

Angel nodded. "I know how that works. Just before your mother died, I tried to make the pain go away. I didn't want to feel anything."

"What kind of pain?" She shifted to look at him, her head propped on her elbow, and her left hand caressing his chest. Her left leg slipped between his knees, and her foot teased his calves.

"Darla was brought back, by a spell. She was human. She plagued my dreams, hovered at the edge of my vision, drove me insane with obsession. Then she found out she was dying. Syphilis, or tuberculosis, I forget which. I went through this trial to get her a second chance, but after I won they said she was already on her second chance.

"We went back to her apartment, and I offered to make her a vampire. It had been what she wanted, and I thought maybe with a soul, she'd get one too, but during the trial she decided she wanted to live her life the way she should have."

"And then?" she prodded, off the tone of his voice.

"Then the people who brought her back brought Drusilla in to Turn her. I tried to kill her, but I failed."

"And I'm betting she unleashed some unholy havoc."

"Yeah. And while I tried to stop them, I pushed my friends away. I fired them, turned away from my duty. I finally just gave up, and tried to lose my soul. I knew that my friends would stake me if they thought I was evil. Fortunately, Darla didn't bring me anything but despair."

"I was using Spike," she finally said. "He made me feel something, even if it was only disgust at myself and a good orgasm."

"Do you love him? Now that he's got a soul?"

Her silence made him nervous. Did she have to think that hard about her answer? Or was she trying to find an easy way to tell him a truth he didn't want to hear?

"I don't know. I care about him." She rolled onto her back, shifted into a sitting position, and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them. "He's different now. He can make a difference in the world. In many ways, he already has."

Angel didn't look at her as he asked, "Is he your boyfriend?"

Buffy glared down at him. "Is that your business?"

He chuckled shortly and stared up at her. "Hey, I just came to Sunnydale to help. You're the one who jumped in my bed. If that means you've cheated on your boyfriend, it's very much my business."

"He's not my boyfriend. We haven't – we've barely touched since he came back. But," she thought about it, "he is in my heart."

Angel frowned, then sat up, turning to face her. "I don't like competing. If he thinks he's in love with you, he's not gonna get a fair fight."

"What, are you pissed?"

"Yes." She blinked at that. He continued, "I didn't like Riley personally, but he seemed like the perfect guy for you: nice, normal, demon-fighting human. But that bite on your neck was supposed to keep vampires away from you, on penalty of a very painful torture before being killed. And Spike's a vampire. I've seen how evil he can be, mostly because I helped create him.

"Now, I understand the confusion that comes with having your soul restored better than anyone." He took a deep breath, looking at his hands. "And if he wants my help with that, he'll get it." He looked back up at her. "But I am not letting him have you. Not without a fight."

"So you're making me choose?"

He flinched and looked away. "I hate saying it," he finally forced out, "but I think I am. What I'm really trying to say is that I'm finally ready to fight for us, Buffy." He stared at her intently. "I'd like to try and make us work, if you'll give me another chance."

His plea was met with silence and much swallowing over the lump in Buffy's throat.

"Is … is there still an us to hope for?"

"I used to think that far ahead. And then, everything changed. I stopped hoping. But…" She swallowed down some big emotion. "Sometimes, I do think that far ahead. And if I had to choose," she reached out to caress his cheek, "I'd give my heart to the man who's always had it."

He sighed in relief, then turned his face and kissed her palm. "I've always loved you best. There was a time when I thought different. You didn't need my help, because you were always too strong to ask. I convinced myself that you didn't need me, so I…" He swallowed. "I tried to move on."

Her lip quivered. She dreaded the question she knew she had to ask. "With who?"

"Cordelia."

A beat. Then, "Okay. Trying to stay calm, but not liking the visual."

"Having the visions changed her. Just like knowing you changed Giles, and so many others. I thought she was a champion. But she was just a young woman, with so many weaknesses. She said she loved me, but that I had done too much as Angelus. She saw my entire lifetime, and it was just too hard for her to look at me the same way."

"Cordy fell in love with you?"

"Hey, I was flattered with that part. Why, you jealous?" He grinned, reaching a hand over to caress her inner thigh.

She slapped his hand away. "Yes, I'm jealous. You always said you were a one-woman vamp."

"Ah, but I only thought I loved her."

"And she only loved your good looks. You think of yourself as a package deal, Angel, but you're not. There's a fine line between soul and demon. A girl's got to be able to see that in order to love you."

He plopped back down on the bed. "You always could see it, _mo chroi_."

Her brow furrowed cutely. "Did you just call me a mockery?"

He chuckled. "No. I said, 'Mo kree,'" he enunciated the words carefully. "It's Gaelic for 'my heart.' And before, I wasn't saying 'car ride;' 'caraid' means darling."

She melted, smiling softly. "I love you, Deadboy." She toppled over and scooted close to kiss him.

"See, when you call me that," he said against her lips, "I don't mind it so much. Can you get Xander to stop?"

"He'll explode if he doesn't have somebody to pick on."

"So? That's what Captain Peroxide is for."

Her giggle turned into a delighted shriek as he attacked her with kisses. They burrowed under the covers and made love again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Buffy woke an hour or so later. She stretched her arm out, and her brain stopped when she felt an empty bed.

She sat up slowly, blinking. "Angel?" she called softly. She sat all the way up, clutching the sheet around her. "Angel?" She swung her legs over the side of the bed and wrapped the red sheet around her like a toga. "Angel, where are you?"

She searched through the rest of the rooms, calling out his name. No answer. Frantic, she rushed outside. "Angel? Angel!" She circled the mansion, but Angel was nowhere to be seen. Moreover, there was no car anywhere nearby.

He couldn't have just left. He said he wanted to start again, he wanted to make their relationship work.

She was in tears as she rushed back inside to put on her clothes. Great, heaving sobs were punctuated by sniffles as she searched for her other shoe, the sheet wrapped around her.

"Buffy? Oh God, honey, what's wrong?" And then he was there, kneeling beside her in his suit pants. "Buffy?" He pushed her hair out of her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Talk to me."

She was breathing heavy and still crying, but she tried to explain. "I-I woke up and you weren't there. I went to find you and – and you weren't in the other rooms. Then I went outside and your car wasn't there."

His face, taut with concern, softened in understanding. "_Ach, caraid, t'aim doiligh_." He hugged her tight, maneuvering himself onto the bed next to her. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. I didn't think. You're right, my car wasn't out there. I – I got a ride here; it's a bit of a long story." As she calmed down, he rocked her gently. "I just got up to get you something from my bags and take a bath. I must have come out just as you went outside."

Buffy sniffed and rested her head on his shoulder, her face turned away. "I was so worried. I thought maybe the First had messed with my head or something."

Angel pulled back slightly and grabbed an accordion file from the edge of the bed. "It's the First Evil, right? The power that tried to convince me to kill myself."

"Yeah. It's gotten a little more ambitious since then. It's raising an army."

"Well, it failed once. I'm here to help you make sure it fails again."

"I'm glad you're here," she said adoringly. "You can help me take on this preacher. His army is guarding something at a vineyard. I think they've got a weapon there."

"Sounds like a plan. We can hand these," he pulled out some papers from the file, "off to the gang."

"Yeah. I'll have them see if there's anything new. Reliable source?"

"Not remotely," he assured her.

She took a breath. "Well, any port in an apocalypse."

"I've got a couple of other things, too."

He pulled out a tremendously gaudy amulet and held it out for Buffy, whose eyes widened at the sheer tackiness of it. "I can already tell you, I don't have anything that goes with this."

"It's not for you."

She was surprised. "'Splainy?"

Angel shook his head. "I don't know everything. It's very powerful and probably very dangerous. Has a purifying power … or a cleansing power …" He glanced at it "… or possibly scrubbing bubbles. The translation is … anyway, it bestows strength, worn by the right person."

She pondered that. "And the right person is …?"

"Someone ensouled. But stronger than human. A Champion." A beat. "As in me."

She gestured to herself. "Or me."

"No," he said firmly. "I don't know nearly enough about this to risk you wearing it."

"So you're going to be with me in this."

"Shoulder to shoulder," Angel told her. "I'm yours."

Buffy looked at him warmly. "And I'm yours. Forever."

He grinned. "I was hoping you'd feel that way." He stood and made his way over to his coat. Pulling something from a pocket, he approached the bed and kneeled in front of her.

In his hand, he had a blue tin for Peppermint Altoids. He opened it facing her, and tears sprang to her eyes at the simple, elegant item inside.

A silver band that formed a pair of hands, holding a crowned heart.

Her Claddagh ring.

She smiled through her tears and reached for it. Angel took her right hand and slipped the ring on her finger, heart pointing back towards her wrist.

He kissed her knuckles, then leaned forwards to kiss her lips. She gently slipped her tongue into his mouth and pulled him up on the bed.

He shoved the sheet away from her body and let his hands roam, pulling her on top. She reached down and unzipped his pants. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her eyes and her nose, his fingers tangled in her hair as she moved his pants down.

He slipped his knee between her legs, rubbing his thigh against her. She moaned his name, wrapping her legs around him. He entered her gently, his lips returning to hers.

The fire crackled as the soul mates joined again. Their passion grew to such a violent height, Angel vamped out and bit her just under her chin. He was startled and tried to pull away, but Buffy held his head to her neck.

"I want this, Angel," she breathed as she moved beneath him. "I'm making my choice. Stake your claim."

He drank deeply from her as she climaxed, and stilled his movements. She moaned, her thigh caressing his bare hip. "Angel," she begged him to stop. He grunted, and finally pulled himself away.

He took a candle from the nightstand and scrambled over to his bag for his first aid kit. He grabbed all the bandages he saw and a small cooler.

He handed her the bandages, which she pressed to her neck. She laid on her other side, so gravity would help pull the blood on the surface away from her wound.

When the blood flow receded and the cut began to clot, Angel taped a fresh bandage to her neck. He kissed her forehead and gently pushed her onto her back. She smiled weakly at him.

He picked up the cooler and opened it, revealing two packs of blood and a transfusion kit. Buffy frowned in confusion as he brought it over. "Emergency kit," he explained. "In case Wes or Cordy … you know."

"Smart," she whispered.

"Pump your fist," he ordered, taking out the tubes and setting up the bag end.

She obeyed, allowing him to find the vein he needed and stick the transfusion needle into her elbow joint. He squeezed the bag to start the blood flow.

She whimpered as the cold liquid hit her bloodstream. Angel held the bag at his shoulder and caressed her forehead.

After he switched bags, she drowsily closed her eyes.

"Hey," he poked her in the stomach, "stay with me here."

She blinked a few times and smiled at him. "So after this, we head for the vineyard?"

"As soon as you're rested."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't rest, Angel, the Potentials could be dying."

"As soon as I'm sure you won't topple over in a fight, then."

She grinned sleepily at him. "I did it for Graduation," she teased.

He leaned over, holding the nearly empty blood bag in the air, and kissed her sweetly.

A fist connected with his temple that sent him rolling over the bed and onto the floor.

Buffy lifted her head, confused. "What the-"

"Buffy, are you alright?" Spike loomed over her, shaking her shoulders.

"Spike, what the hell are you thinking?"

He didn't have a chance to answer; Angel's fist slammed into his jaw.

"Stay away from my mate, Captain Peroxide," Angel ground out from under his game face.

"You bloody wanker, what the hell'd you do to her?"

"Claimed what was mine."

"Claimed!" Spike stared at Angel, then looked at Buffy. He saw the bandage, the transfusion kit, realized neither of them was wearing any clothes, and it clicked. "You stupid whore, are you crazy!"

Angel punched him. "Watch your language, that's my girlfriend you're talking to."

Buffy wrapped the sheet around her, pulled the tube out of her arm, and got off the bed. Her knees buckled, so she crawled over to Angel's bag in search of a stake. She loaded up his crossbow and fired a bolt in between the combatants. She quickly reloaded as they looked around, bewildered.

Angel rushed over to her in concern, but she lifted her crossbow slightly. He stopped in his tracks. "Buffy, you need to rest."

"I'll rest when the two of you call a truce."

Spike scoffed, and Angel's shoulders sagged.

"Buffy," he began.

"You don't have to become best friends, but you do have to agree not to kill each other."

Angel rolled his eyes and went over to pull on his clothes.

"Why the hell do you want him?" Spike asked. "He's just gonna leave you."

"Not this time," she said, her hand steady. She smiled up at Angel as he dropped her clothes next to her.

He leaned in close and placed a kiss behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'll be right outside."

"Thanks."

After Angel left, Buffy put the crossbow on the bed and started to get dressed.

"Look, Spike," she said wearily. "I know that you mean well."

"Buffy, I love you."

"No, Spike, you don't. You think you know me, but you don't. I had to become different when Angel left. I thought there was something wrong with me. So, I tried to fix it. But, there wasn't anything wrong with either one of us. We just had to figure out who we were, away from each other."

"So it's goodbye to the people who helped you?"

Her face fell, and she closed her eyes. "It's not like that. I can never love you the way you want me to, the way you deserve to be loved. But Angel …" She looked in Angel's direction, and a dreamy smile appeared on her face. "I'm sorry, Spike, but I love him. Angel makes me happy. It's not being with him that makes me miserable."

"I used you to feel closer to him, and for that I'm sorry. I'd like to be your friend. I'd like to help you get used to your soul. Angel's offered to help with that, too."

Spike scoffed, his face displaying his hurt.

Buffy stood, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jeans to straighten the insides out.

"You were right, by the way," he said suddenly.

"About what?"

"Caleb _is_ protecting something from you. And I think you were spot on all the way. I think it's at the vineyard." He turned, following her out of the bedroom.

"That's where we're headed, then," Angel said, having heard the tail end of their conversation. "Right?" he asked Buffy, somehow sensing she needed to be deferred to by the two vampires.

"Yes, indeed," she replied. He held out his hand, expecting to take her arm, but she laced her fingers through his. Pleasantly surprised, he gave her one of his Buffy smiles – a soft smile reserved just for her. "You gonna come with us, Spike?"

Angel was careful to keep his expression blank. He didn't want the blond to think he was completely unwelcome, and in a fight of this importance, three were better than two.

But Spike said no. "I'd better not."

Angel gave him an understanding look. Having a soul had changed him, Angel could see that. He offered Spike his right hand and said quietly, "You need help, come see me. I'm still your Sire in every way that counts."

"Piss off, you ponce." He shook Angel's hand anyway, who was grinning, and warned him: "You break her heart, I'll bloody rip yours out."

"I know." He followed Buffy out of the mansion.

* * *

Angel attacked the Bringers with the sword he's stashed in his bag. He'd be the diversion while Buffy went looking for whatever it was that belonged to her. 

He used the blade of his sword to parry one attack from his right, and stopped a knife on his left with a hard chop to his assailant's wrist. He planted his foot in the stomach of the Bringer on his right, pivoting and moving the sword to bear on his left. He stabbed the attacker in the chest, removed the knife from its now-limp hand, and pulled his sword back.

He turned halfway, hurling the knife into the eye of his other opponent. Rushing over, Angel left the knife in his eye but took the one from his hand and moved on. He stopped near his bag and grabbed his crossbow. Taking careful but quick aim with his vampire senses, he felled three more Bringers with the bolts.

Angel dropped the extinguished weapon back on top of his bag, and picked up his borrowed knife. With a huge leap, he barreled into a group of demons, hacking and slashing.

He got several in their vulnerable spots: face and neck, and beheaded a few with his sword. Then he faltered, earning a stab to the ribs for his distraction. He quickly turned and disemboweled the Bringer with both knife and sword, then turned back to the vision that demanded his attention:

Doyle.

Or more specifically, The First, wearing his old partner's face.

It opened Its mouth, and Angel stared hard at the entity, ignoring the soft brogue. The vampire refused to answer or acknowledge it until it stopped pretending to be the dead Irishman.

Finally, It resorted to Jenny, a semblance that had worked once before. "Do you really think you'll be able to help?"

Angel smirked. "You've entirely missed the point. You're not going to win. What these pitiful Scoobies don't realize yet is that it doesn't matter whether you kill us all. We could all die, but you still lose."

"I notice you joined Evil, Inc. pretty quick, Angelus."

"Yeah. And what do you think my friends will do to Wolfram & Hart if I die?" He shook his head. "I thought, after five years, you'd be smarter than this. You may not want to admit it, but I've changed. Your old arguments aren't going to work on me."

"No?" The First asked, changing into Buffy. "So sure about that?"

Angel's smirk widened to a grin. "Spike wouldn't have noticed it, but you don't smell anything like her."

It frowned. "He's a vampire, just like you."

"Yeah. But he doesn't know his own scent when it's on a woman. I do, and you smell like rot. If you were really Buffy, that bite" he pointed "would smell like me." He turned and ignored her then, tossing a knife with lazy accuracy deep into the heart of another Bringer. Behind him, The First disappeared.

Angel visibly relaxed, once his gut instinct told him The First was gone. He slid easily from one defensive pose to the next, his daily Tai Chi exercises of years past coming back as he focused on his movements.

His leather duster swirled as it caught the air, its owner spinning to fend off attackers on all sides. He parried with his sword, using it almost like a shield. The knives he stole were his primary weapons, and for every knife he embedded into the neck or forehead or ear of a Bringer, he replaced it in his arsenal with the one in their hands.

He fought through his many flesh wounds, knowing one: that they would heal soon enough, and two: that Buffy needed this distraction for as long as it took.

Angel called upon all his experience to aid him. The Bringers were supernatural creatures, but they were also less than sturdy. They had the same mortality as most humans, and their weapons were more than adequate to kill them. The vampire, meanwhile, had his super strength, his fast healing, was killable only by stake, sunlight, and beheading (he was thankful none of his opponents had a sword), and, most important:

He was running on the energy of a Slayer's blood.

Like the fight during Graduation, Angel felt every drop of his immortality. He was in prime fighting condition. His senses were heightened by the added impact of the Slayer's essence, and Buffy's blood combined with the lingering amount Angelus had taken from Faith. He'd never taken blood from two Slayers in such a short time, and he felt as though it made him stronger than ever.

He only hoped he hadn't weakened Buffy too much.

But then he heard her, and knew she was going to be okay. "Angel, let's get out of here!"

Angel dropped his secret weapon – the vessel that Wesley had magicked to hold the naphtha Fred had designed – and disappeared in the resulting cloud of smoke.

A minute after he was out of the area, the naphtha exploded, a wall of fire going through the compound.

The lovers finally slowed to a trot a mile away. Buffy gave Angel the scythe, smiling happily. A half-smile was on his face, too – she hadn't shut up since they fled the vineyard. He knew, now, she was feeling much better.

When she was happy, she babbled.

"… and it came out so easily – just like King Arthur and the sword in the stone. It was calling me, Angel, and I felt like I was coming home…"

He examined the weapon, listening to her with half an ear. Its blade was round and circular, like the moon … like the shape of a pregnant woman. The blade was welded into the hilt, which was red metal down to a point two-thirds along the length of the weapon. From there, it sprouted a foot-and-a-half-long stake, sharpened to a proper point. A scythe, the ultimate symbol of woman, and womanhood. Of the power only a woman could wield.

The Power of the Slayer.

Passing it back to her, he said, "I don't feel anything, just a little hum, but I think that's 'cause you're the Slayer and I'm a vampire."

"We need to get back to the rest of the gang," she said, heading towards Revello Drive.

"You're the leader."

She shook her head, melancholy setting in. "I don't feel like a leader," she confessed. "They blame me for stuff, and honestly? I can't say they're wrong."

"So who says you have to go back and take charge of everything again? You're the leader of me, Buffy, was what I meant. But, maybe, give them a chance to see how Giles and Faith do. Give Faith a chance to lead," he suggested. "You know it's what she wants – a second chance."

"They kicked me out of my own home, Angel." They stopped in the street.

He raised a hand, stopping her further tirade. "I'm trying to say this nicely, but hear me out anyway. Do you admit you've made mistakes as The Slayer?"

"Yes, but that's-"

He cut her off with his hand again. "Now, did you give it honest consideration, letting Faith take the lead? 'cause she's the true Slayer, you know. And you may not like the history that you two have, but she is a good fighter."

His words hit Buffy hard. He knew Faith better than anyone, now. She wasn't the same transient from Boston who'd wanted everything Buffy had had. She was a strong woman who wanted to fight the good fight.

Angel was right, and in a way so were her friends. Buffy had been unwilling to be a follower, and that had gotten her kicked out of the house. She covered her eyes with her hand, ashamed of her own pig-headedness.

Angel took her in his arms. "I know. It's hard."

"It's hard because I was _right_, Angel." She swung the scythe upright. "It was there, at the vineyard."

"Shh." He cupped her teary, splotchy face in his hands. "I know," he stressed. "I fired my friends because if they had stayed, Darla might have succeeded and I might have killed them. Do they still hate me for it? Yes. Did I feel like an idiot going back to them and saying, 'I want to help you guys?' Yes. But I let Wesley lead. I was proved right by my actions and my decision, and I got the lead back when he betrayed me, but I let them decide, and gave him the chance."

He moved his hands to her shoulders. "Now, I know it hurts. If they don't want our help, we'll figure something else out." He smirked. "Why don't you just be happy that I'm here for a while. We'll deal with them when it's time."

She smiled, a small one. "Careful, your alpha male is showing."

"Only for you." He kissed her hard, almost possessively, making her feel as though she was the Goddess of Love who'd finally chosen a suitor – and it was him, and he was never letting go of the precious gift in his arms. His kisses always had that quality, it seemed, except when he was Angelus, and they always made her feel better.

They walked back to Checkpoint Revello.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Giles was rifling through the groceries Andrew had liberated alongside the Potentials who'd stayed behind when the Buffy patrol returned.

Anya, Xander, Willow, and Dawn walked in, and Giles swallowed down his Jaffa Cake. Andrew asked, "Did you find Buffy?"

"No," Xander told him, frustrated.

"But you did that spell with the little lights," Andrew pointed out. "The locator."

"It crapped out on us," Anya said.

"No it didn't … exactly," Dawn reported.

"It just took us to the mansion on Crawford Street," Willow explained to Giles, sad and worried. "She must have moved on already."

Giles took that in. Then he said, "Well, I'm afraid there's rather worse news here." He glanced toward the Potentials, then led the core group off to the side for more privacy. Andrew was there.

"Faith hasn't returned with the other girls," Giles informed them. "Something's gone wrong."

Andrew nodded soberly. "I've been keeping morale up, because that's important."

"We have to go to her," Willow said.

Xander nodded. "Guess so."

There was a slight commotion as the back door opened, and Buffy entered gripping her new scythe tightly. "Come in," she said somewhat formally, and both Giles and Willow smiled and sighed in relief as Angel walked across the threshold.

Dawn squealed, "Angel!" and rushed over to him. He dropped his bag and threw his arms open wide.

"Hiya, squirt," he said, as he folded her in a big hug.

Buffy carefully put the scythe down on the kitchen counter. She walked over to Willow and stiffly hugged her. "Thanks for the spell, Will. That means a lot to us."

Buffy stepped away from her, to be replaced by a much livelier Angel. "Throw out all those old Gypsy curses," he said softly, so the Potentials wouldn't hear. "That new spell?" He pulled back and gave her a saucy wink. "It made me really happy."

Giles frowned, and so did Willow, but then she got it. "Oh my Goddess! You're … you mean you two…"

Buffy beamed and nodded. Angel came over and put his hands on her waist, kissing the crown of her blond head. "Where's Faith?" he asked, getting down to business.

"She took some of the Potentials and they went to scope out the arsenal the First is guarding."

Angel and Buffy looked alarmed, and they traded worried glances. "It's a trap," she said to him, dead certain.

"Yeah. Where does Spike keep his stash?"

"Fridge door." She rushed into the living room and headed upstairs.

Angel opened the fridge, pulled out a bottle of whisky, and also pulled a pack of blood out, hiding it from the Potentials. He didn't want a fight with them on his hands. He pried open the bottle of whisky and drank from it, bending over his bag. He armed himself for another demon fight, this time putting his stakes in his wrist launchers.

Buffy re-entered the kitchen and handed him a sword, which he put in his extra scabbard. "Where are they?"

"Sewers," she replied. "I know where."

"What fun," he said, standing and throwing out the empty bottle. "You ready, my fearless leader?"

"You bet."

"Buffy-" Giles began.

"Save it, librarian," Angel growled. He ushered Buffy out ahead of him.

* * *

Oddly enough, they ran into Spike on their way to the sewer entrance. Angel let Buffy pull ahead and walked next to his Grandchilde, biting into the blood bag.

"What'd you say to the wankers?"

Angel smirked, and licked his lips. "I said hit to Dawn, thanks to Willow, and told Giles to shut up."

"You didn't hit anybody?"

"Wasn't there long enough. Maybe later I'll bash Xander's face in."

"No you won't," Buffy called over her shoulder.

"He deserves it," he called back. He drank a little more, then offered the bag to Spike, who took it and began feeding.

"They all deserve it," Spike mumbled softly to his Sire, blood trickling out of his mouth.

"Well, not quite," he replied. "They were wrong," he said quickly, as Spike almost spit the blood back into the bag. "They were wrong to force the issue. But look at it this way. If the three of us were a clan," Angel said, spinning his finger in a circle to include them, "and I was the Master, and every decision I made for weeks got her injured," he pointed at Buffy, "you'd be thinking of ways to get rid of me."

"Damn right."

"Because you'd hate seeing her get hurt for nothing."

"You bet yer bloody arse."

"So how would she be any different from those innocent Potentials? And I'm Buffy, making mistakes, and all Faith – you – can see is that she keeps getting hurt."

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it as the logic set in.

"Now, if I hadn't let you try your hand at running this little family, you'd be ready to kill me to get me out of the situation."

"And then you vow to take Buffy with you," Spike provided, filling in the analogy, "'cause you wouldn't stand for lettin' me have her."

"That's the real mistake Buffy made. Refusing to let Faith have a chance to lead the group earlier on. They wanted to stop dying, and the only solution they saw to that was a change of leaders."

Spike shook his head. "Dumb."

"As it turned out, yes. Because she was right all along. But with a little … diplomacy, it wouldn't have come to that. So, everybody's at fault."

"'Cept us."

"Right. 'cause we weren't there." They grinned at each other, and the weirdness was born.

Buffy stopped, and glared at them both.

"What?"

"Angel," she said, exasperated, "Faith's in trouble."

"Oh, right. Where's this sewer entrance again?"

* * *

Kennedy grabbed up one of the Bringers' weapons on the mucky floor of the sewer and held it up, protecting the others, poised to meet the enemy. The Ubervamps, their mouths dripping gore, rushed the girls, backing them up against the wall.

The first Turok-Han ripped her blade from Kennedy's hand, slapped a long-fingered hand around her throat, and lifted her off the ground, as if she were weightless.

'_Oh, God, Willow. Willow, I love you_,' Kennedy though wildly, preparing herself for death. She was beginning to suffocate, and she hoped to God she went out that way.

Then a loud crash of cement, mortar, and dust startled the creature, as a metal grate behind Kennedy collapsed. Light streamed in from the hole above.

It was Buffy, surrounded by light, and holding her scythe. With her were Spike and another man, one light and one dark, both armed with swords and stakes.

The three warriors made short work of the Ubervamps. With a team like that, the odds were ridiculous.

Once the battle was over, Buffy looked below her from the pile of rubble to see the Potentials staring up at her with awe and reverence. Cathedral-like streams of light backlit her, adding an aura of holiness to her heroic stance. In direct contrast, as though painted by the hands of the Powers That Be, her two comrades melted into the shadows, eyes watching everything.

For Amanda, it was especially hard to catch more than a glimpse of tall, dark, and handsome – he didn't have the same swagger or "look at me" attitude Spike did.

Then he visibly tensed, and rushed forward to help Faith. As he passed into a patch of reflected light, the shadows danced and receded from his face. Amanda felt herself flush and her eyes widen. This was a fine specimen of male hunk.

Where Spike's blond looks had that bad-boy feel, this man was chocolate. His brooding, soulful eyes and dark spiky hair gave off a wholesome, yummy feel.

He took Faith's unconscious body in his arms, but then immediately staggered and leaned against the wall of the sewer.

"Angel?" The worry in Buffy's voice was colored with something Amanda had never heard before.

He shook his head at her. "I'm all right. Just didn't take enough time to heal."

She smiled sadly and nodded, then turned and addressed the Potentials. "Get the wounded," she said. "We're leaving."

Kennedy ventured, "Are there more?"

"There's always more," Buffy retorted. "Let's move."

* * *

The wounded were transported back to Revello Drive; everyone else got back on their own steam. Dawn bandaged injuries while three unconscious girls lay on make-shift pallets. Spike passed a girl with a terrible stomach wound, paused, and then called out.

"Willow, you've got a bleeder." As the redhead turned, he pointed down.

She brought a cloth and pressed it hard over the wound. "Got it," she said.

The front door opened, and Angel brought Faith in. She was unconscious, and Spike stepped over to join him and Buffy. "Yer mum's room is ready for 'er."

Angel nodded and, cradling Faith to his chest, took the stairs two and three at a time.

"Hope we're in time," Buffy said quietly, to Spike.

Kennedy and Amanda trailed in after the elder vampire, though neither of them yet knew Angel was a vampire. Their faces were pinched with weariness and exhaustion, and their bodies were covered with injuries. Kennedy's neck had been bandaged in the field.

"Is she okay?" Amanda asked. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Kennedy soothed. "Right?" she asked Buffy.

Buffy stopped in the entryway with the girls, calling to Angel, "I'll be up in a second."

"Bring whisky!" His voice trailed downstairs.

Buffy looked up after him, watching, worrying, trying to tamp it down while she dealt with what – or who – was in front of her – wounded, frightened, worried warriors, home from battle.

"You guys heal fast, right?" Kennedy asked. "You Slayers?"

"Yeah," she said absently.

"So, she'll be okay?" Kennedy pressed.

"I don't know," Buffy told her honestly. Now was not the time to lie about things. Morale or no, they had to know what was going on.

Caridad gestured to Buffy's weapon and said, "What's with the scythe?"

"I took it from Caleb," Buffy said, unable to stop looking up the stairs. "Might be important."

"Let's hope," Vi murmured.

Amanda blurted, "I think we got punished."

That got Buffy's attention. She looked at Amanda and said, "What?"

Kennedy dipped her head. "We … we followed her, and it was …"

"It didn't work out," Vi finished lamely.

Buffy shook her head, Angel's logic reverberating in her mind. "That wasn't her fault. It was a trap. I've fallen for traps, too. I was just lucky no one was very seriously hurt because of my mistakes."

She had been walking to the kitchen, girls following her, to grab the bottle of whisky Angel had requested. Buffy abruptly turned, pointed at Xander and his eye patch and said, "Scratch that. See Exhibit X over there? I goofed big time, and look what happened to him."

Caridad took that in. "So… are you … are you, like _back_?"

Buffy smiled, recognizing that she hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd taken advantage of Angel's presence and used the opportunity to push away some decisions. She said, "I don't know. I'm not leaving this time."

Kennedy clearly liked that answer as she nodded, satisfied. Then she pushed on and said, "So we got a plan now or anything?"

Buffy headed upstairs, calling back, "Yeah. Stop the bleeding, take a deep breath."

She went into her mother's old room, to see Angel and Giles tending to Faith. Three more Potentials stood watching, moving out of Buffy's way as she came into the room.

"Is she breathing okay?"

Angel nodded. He was so concerned over his patient. Buffy smiled to see it. She knew, if it had been her, he'd have been flipping out right now. But he looked at Faith like a little sister, or a distant cousin.

"Still not conscious, though," Giles reported.

Emotion welled up inside Buffy, but she steeled herself and said, "We've still got work to do."

She was trying to catch Giles' eye, but Angel looked up at her instead. He rushed over to her, gruffly said, "Hold it." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully pushed her into the hall for a brief moment of privacy.

She hit the wall, and he covered her entire body with his. He roughly kissed her, stealing her warmth and trailing his hands over her back. When he finally let her up for air, she was flushed and panting.

"I needed that," Angel confessed, his forehead resting on hers.

Buffy gave him her smile and admitted, "I needed it, too." She lifted the bottle of whisky.

He took it from her, saying, "I need that next." He took it in the room, setting it on a nightstand. He made a motion to Giles, who rose and followed Buffy into Dawn's room.

While they, plus Willow, conferred over the scythe, Angel worked to help Faith. Biting her would sure as hell wake her up, but it would also piss her off.

He shook his head. She already had a Scar from him. No more.

He drank from the whisky bottle, deadening the pain of his own wounds, while he thought of ways to wake up Faith. He snapped his fingers, remembering some of the items in his overnight bag.

He grabbed a vial of holy water from it, and walked over to the window. He pulled a strand of garlic off the wall, his fingers stinging, and stood in front of the dresser.

He smashed the garlic and added it to the holy water, every once in a while taking a swig of whisky from the other bottle. When he had enough, he put the cap back on and shook the mixture.

Heading back over to the bed, he held the bottle close to Faith's nose. He unscrewed the cap, and the strong, pungent odor of garlic fled its confines of glass.

Her nose twitched, then she snorted, coughed, and took a deep breath – inhaling garlic fumes. She gagged and began thrashing about, knocking the bottled concoction away.

Angel set it on the nightstand and grabbed her hands, pinning them to the bed. "Faith, it's all right! You're all right! It's Angel."

She stilled, coughing, and opened her eyes a bit. Fortunately, the vampire had left the lanterns off, and she was able to see without the pain of the light. "Angel?" she muttered quietly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Heard maybe you needed a hand." He grinned, letting go of her wrists. "Thought I might save the damsel in distress."

She snuck in a quick jab to his injured ribcage, glaring at him. He covered the wounded area, saying, "Ow." He leaned slightly away from her.

"Serves you right," she retorted.

"I know, I know. You're-"

"Not much of a damsel," they finished together.

"Got your share of distress, though." He continued, pointing at her face.

"And then some. The girls, are they…?"

"Shh. Don't worry about that just now. Let's get you back to strength." He held up the bottle of whisky. "Think you can keep this down?"

She smirked but nodded, and he handed her the bottle. She took a swig, grimacing at first but then relaxing against the pillows. "That's good stuff," she said, offering him the bottle.

He took it and drank a swill. "Spike always did have good taste in liquor."

She chuckled. "Does he know you stole from his stash?"

"Yeah." They passed the bottle back and forth between them. "He prefers bourbon, anyway."

"Good, then. Bastard hit _me_ 'cause the rest of the gang didn't want to follow B."

"She and I already talked about that."

"She was right."

"You can't look at the situation in black and white, Faith. There's more to this conflict than that."

"How would you know?"

"I got coverage on the whole thing. Very gripping, needs a first act."

She shook her head, amused. "You _have_ to leave LA."

"Can't. Not yet. I got sucked in on this deal." He broke off, helping her readjust the pillow so she could sit up. Buffy re-entered, having spoken with Giles and Willow, and given Xander his instructions. She was holding the scythe and a flashlight. "I'll tell you about it later," Angel finished.

Faith frowned, worried, brown eyes following him as he stood and hugged Buffy.

"You all right?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You should get looked at, though."

"Nah, I just need a nap. Wake me in an hour?"

"I'll come find you." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, then shut the door behind him.

"'Bout time you two stopped getting' your wires crossed. He sticking around for a while?"

"I know he'd like to," Buffy said, as she brought the scythe over to the bed. "I may not let him. I don't know quite yet."

Faith placed her hands on the hilt and closed her eyes. Buffy stood by the bed, watching as she got lost in reverie. "You feel it too, don't you?" she said, as Faith opened her eyes.

The dark-haired Slayer grunted. "Damn. And _damn_. That's something."

"I know."

"It's old. Strong. And it feels like… like it's mine," she finished, a slight mixture of shame and resentment in her voice. "So I guess that means it's yours."

"It belongs to the Slayer," Buffy corrected her.

Faith shrugged. "Slayer In Charge. Which I'm guessing is you."

Buffy sat on the edge of the bed. "I honestly don't know," she admitted. "Does it matter?"

Ever Five-by-Five girl, Faith replied, "Never mattered to me. But somebody has to lead." She perked up. "Let's vote for Chao-Ahn! Harder to lead people into a death-trap if you don't speak English."

"Angel might do it. He can be the general, and flip a coin to choose which Slayer will lead. He'd also tell you it's not your fault," Buffy insisted.

Faith gave her her patented tough woman stare. "Really not looking for forgiveness. What do you want me to say? Your boyfriend already started this conversation. You were right, and I blew it."

"You didn't blow it," Buffy repeated. "You were probably doing a smashing job right until that bomb went off."

Faith laughed shortly. Her ringed, swollen eyes were haunted, her bloody mouth stretched back in pain. "Tell that to the-"

"People die," Buffy cut in. "You lead them into battle, they die. No matter how smart you are, or how ready, war is about death. Needless, stupid death."

Faith looked at her for a moment, and then said, "So here's the laugh riot. My whole life, I've been a loner." She fell silent.

Confused, Buffy asked, "Was that the funny part? Did I miss …?"

Faith said with effort, "I'm trying to…"

"No, no. Sorry." Buffy inclined her head. "Go."

Taking another moment, Faith started over… and did not flinch. She went through her thoughts, and not around them. Not this time.

Not this close to death.

"No ties, no buddies, no relationships that lasted longer than … well, I guess Robin lasted pretty long." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Boy's got stamina."

Buffy's eyes got wide. "Principal Wood? And you? And on my bed?"

Faith cocked her head. "Don't tell me _you_ two got wriggly."

"No, no!" Buffy said, flustered. "We're just good friends." She hesitated. "Or … mortal enemies, depending on which day of the …" She looked back at Faith. "Is _this_ the funny part?"

"Okay, the point?" Faith said. "Me, by myself all the time, and looking at you, everything you have, and … I don't know, jealous. And there I am, everybody looking to me, trusting me to lead them …" Her eyes softened, and the haunted look came back. "I never felt more alone in my life."

Buffy gazed at her, felt such a connection, yet still felt the distance. She and Faith – what an unlikely pair. "Yeah," she said.

"And that's you every day, isn't it?" Faith pressed.

_Someone understands. Someone gets this gig._

"I love my friends," she said, "and I'm grateful for them, but yeah. That's the price. Being the Slayer."

"There's only supposed to be one." Faith looked at her questioningly. "Maybe that's why you and I can never get along. We're not supposed to exist together."

"Also, you went evil and were killing people," Buffy reminded her helpfully.

Faith nodded thoughtfully. "Good point. Also a factor."

"But you're right," Buffy said. "I mean, I guess everyone's alone, but … being a Slayer. There's a burden we can't share."

"And no one else can feel it." A beat, then Faith grinned and said, "Thank God we're hot chicks with superpowers."

"Takes the edge off," Buffy agreed.

"Just comforting," Faith added.

"Uh huh."

* * *

While all that discussing was going on, Xander was busy trying to get Dawn distracted enough so he could take her to safety, per Buffy's orders.

Angel, meanwhile, had been trying to find a place to catch a nap.

Faith was in Willow's room, meaning Willow had relocated to Buffy's room. Dawn had been forced early on to share her room with the Potentials, and sunlight made the living room impractical.

As the CEO walked through the house, the girls that were up grouped together, whispering. They looked at him, pointing and giggling, and he smoothed a hand over his hair self-consciously. The last time he'd seen his reflection had been when Marcus switched bodies with him, and he thought his hair had looked goofy. Angel wondered if his gel had backfired and left him with a cowlick.

He passed Xander on his way to the basement. "Really glad you're here, Angel," the young man said. He'd just knocked out Dawn and put her in his car for the trip away from the Hellmouth. Now he was getting a bottle of water and the note Buffy had left for her sister.

Angel stopped, looked long at the teen who'd once, briefly, been the bane of his existence. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and pushed his right hand across his chest, extending it towards Xander.

The former construction worker shook it, his grip firm. There was a little tension, but that was the point of the handshake. Men could get a lot done over a pair of clasped hands.

Finally, Xander pointed to the basement door with the bottle. "Spike's got a cot down there, and the rest of us leave him alone. You'll have to put up with Spike, but you did that for forever, and at least the Potentials will leave you alone."

"Yeah. Thanks." The vampire headed downstairs.

Spike looked up from his cot. "Nancy Boy," he said dryly, nodding in Angel's direction.

"Captain Peroxide," he shot back. He began taking his shirt off, so he could self-administer first aid.

"Angelus, the Ponce of Europe," the blond continued.

"William the Bloody-Awful Poet," Angel returned, settling into their arguments of yesteryear.

Spike glowered at him for a while, then said, "You won the girl this time. Buffy chose you."

"I didn't come here to take her from you," he defended. "I came here to help, to tell her that my soul was permanent, and that I was ready to try again if she was. It was her choice, Spike. Everything down to … my Mark on her again." He pointed a finger at his Grandchilde. "Which I'm still pissed at you for ignoring."

"Sod off." Spike flipped him the bird and turned back to his reading.

Angel moved to a rack of shelves, spotting disinfectant and bandages. He didn't need to fight off infection, of course, but a clean wound healed faster than a dirty one – even for vampires.

He patched himself up, then looked around the basement. He dragged his duffel bag over to a clear patch of floor, then grabbed some extra blankets and spread them out.

As he lay prone, staring at the ceiling, that odd moment of bonding from a few hours ago came back. Spike asked quietly, "Did it hurt? … When you got your soul?"

"Yeah," he finally replied. "It felt like Darla's first bite all over again, only the pain went through my whole body – not just my neck and my bloodstream."

"Mine felt like … it felt like that soddin' idiot what got himself killed by drinking holy water – I felt like I was burning from the inside out. Didn't help that the First waylaid me on the way back to good old Sunnyhell."

"Buffy's friends didn't take too kindly to you when you came back, huh?"

He snorted. "Nope. Giles tried to distract her while that Robin fellow tortured me."

Angel turned his head, frowning at Spike, who explained. "Second Slayer I killed was his mum."

Angel nodded and turned back to staring at the ceiling. "Did he know you have a soul now?" He asked eventually.

"Giles did. Pretty sure Wood knew, too."

A black rage spread through Angel. Now that Darla, Penn, Elizabeth, and James were dead and Drusilla was happily insane in Who-Knew-Where, he and Spike were the only ones left of a family that had reigned in Europe for 150 years. The blood ties between the two vampires were hard at work over the Hellmouth – Spike found himself deferring to the elder man, and Angel felt increasingly protective of his Grandchilde – almost as much as he'd felt for Connor.

And then, there was just something about an ensouled vampire.

Like Slayers, they were rare. Also like Slayers, there had been only one for over a hundred years. Though forces and time were working against Buffy and the Potentials, things seemed to be working in favor of the Aurelius cast-offs. Perhaps it was because, ultimately, they had all the time in the world.

So, while this strange bond of brotherhood grew between the two souls, a similar one was fostered between their two demons. Both were outraged at what their vessels had been reduced to – brooding husks of weepy emotion.

Spike's demon, of course, had been mad at itself long before it had gotten stuck with a soul. Angelus was to pitied. Here was a demon that had no control over the curse – a true and proper punishment for it if ever there was one – and thus, no control with its sudden conscience. But Spike had gone from evil to pathetic in a year and a half – all from "exposure" to the Slayer.

Like Angelus had discovered, much to his dismay, Buffy got inside the mind of a vampire and stayed there. They became obsessed with possessing her or killing her.

Both of the mend in the basement of 1620 Revello Drive had dealt with these conflicting emotions. Now, they were reacting on behalf of each other.

Like a true Patriarch, Angel was pissed at the ill-treatment of his Grandchilde.

He roughly got to his feet and threw on a loose-fitting shirt. "Giles, you said?" he directed at Spike, who snapped to attention and swung his feet to the floor. "And which one's Wood?" Angel continued, heading for the stairs.

"The black one," Spike replied, hurrying to catch up with his Sire and catch the whole showdown.

The door from the basement banged open as Angel yanked on it. The girls just on the other side jumped, squealing in sudden fear. The two warriors stalked through the house.

At the foot of the stairs, they stared up at Giles and Anya. Angel climbed up, his pace deliberate, his hands curling into fists.

"Angel?" Giles asked, warily.

The elder vampire punched him in the gut, but only with enough force to wind him. Knowing the Englishman had an extra pair lying around somewhere, he forcibly pulled off Giles' glasses while he was doubled over.

A simple closing of his fist caused the wire frame to bend at the nose and snap in half. Angel let them fall to the floor and stomped on the pieces, cracking the lenses.

He pulled Giles up roughly and said softly in his ear, "Because Buffy's always looked to you as a father, I won't give you much more pain than this. But you're supposed to be one of the good guys, and torturing an innocent soul for something a demon did while wearing his face stinks of something our enemies would do.

"Think on this, Rupert: How would you feel if you were in my shoes, and Willow decided to torture you for things you had no control over? It would be a terrible injustice, and that's what you let Wood do to my Grandchilde.

"I ever catch you giving Spike flak for any of the things he did before getting his soul, I'll come back and rip out your spleen." He pushed Giles back to lean against the wall and turned to head back down the stairs. He tossed a lazy salute to Anya, who jumped back, away from him. Smirking, he and Spike made their way back to the first floor.

They found Wood in the kitchen with Andrew. Spike gleefully made the introductions:

"Angelus, this is Robin, Nikki Wood's son, and Andrew. You can beat Blondie to a pulp and no one would care, if you like. Wood, this is Tall, Dark, and Fore'ead. He's got a soul, too."

"Don't we all," Angel remarked casually. Then, "But I hear that doesn't mean shit to the likes of you."

Robin never saw the right cross that caught him on the jaw. Andrew yelped, and Angel stood straight, rubbing his knuckles. "I don't have time to give you a proper warning to stay away from my family, but I don't think you'll really need one … do you?"

He turned away without waiting for the principal to get up. Spike grinned down gleefully. "_Oft when gazing at the demon's face_," he recited, his voice rising and falling in cadence, "_the penitent man is filled with dread. His heart will pound and his blood will race, in the midst of the path Angel treads_." He followed his Grandsire downstairs.

"That wasn't half bad," Angel remarked.

Spike dealt with his pride by dealing out an insult for his elder. "That just 'cause it was about you."

Angel humphed as he reclaimed his spot of floor. "Shut up and let me catch some sleep. There'll be hell to pay when she gets down here, and she's less likely to yell at me if I'm unconscious."

Spike thought about that. "You're right. Good point," he said, and he rolled over on his cot and tried to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Buffy came out of the room Faith was in, she saw Giles pulling out his extra pair of glasses. Anya knelt on the floor, picking up what looked like pieces of glass. She looked up at the Slayer and began complaining.

"Your boyfriend's lost his marbles. He just hit Giles!"

Buffy just looked at them.

"I'm talking about Angel!"

Buffy put her hands on her hips, the scythe sticking out at a weird angle. She frowned, then asked, "Did he say anything?"

She waved a hand, eerily reminiscent of Cordelia Chase. "Something about torture, Spike, and coming back to rip out his spleen."

Buffy dropped her hands. "Good. You deserved it." She headed downstairs, only to find Xander and Andrew hovering over Robin, repairing a cut that had opened under his jaw.

"I thought you were leaving?" she asked Xander.

"I'm on my way out the door now," he replied, pressing the tape into place on Robin's skin.

She looked at the situation. "Let me guess: Angel?"

"Are you sure he's not evil?" Xander asked sarcastically.

"Yes. He would've killed Robin if that was the case, and at the very least broken Giles' ribcage. And Spike would've tried to stop him. Besides," she scolded, "whatever he said, he was right. The soul that is inside Angel didn't kill Jenny Calendar. The soul that's inside Spike isn't the monster that killed your mother or tried to rape me." She gave Xander a pointed look, and he finally glanced away, nodding.

"You were right," he said quietly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. It's just … the lay of the land, you know?"

"I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to be so hard on you guys, it's just … _this_ fight. _This_ enemy."

Robin was quietly seething, but Buffy left, headed for the basement, before it became an issue.

Down in the basement, both vampires were fast asleep. Buffy smiled, and knelt beside Angel. She pressed a kiss to his brow, then scooted over to Spike's cot. She adjusted his blanket and softly kissed his cheek.

"I saw that," Angel whispered behind her.

She turned, smiling at him, to see his eyes half-closed.

"I saw what you did," she said quietly.

He turned his head away and faked a snore. She chuckled silently and reached for his hand. His eyes opened fully as he squeezed her hand back. "You're not staying down here, are you?"

"Faith's got Willow's room, which means Willow's got my room," she explained.

"Is it dark outside, or light?"

"It's dark, for now."

He started to sit up. "We could go to the mansion."

She put a hand to his shoulder and pushed him down. "No. It's too dangerous out there."

He pointed at Spike. "It's a bit dangerous in here." She started to berate him when he continued, "He composes poetry in his sleep. Awful stuff."

They shared a grin, and she said, "Give me your blanket."

"Wha-? Aw, man," he whined softly as he lifted partially off the floor and gave her his blanket.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. Then she patted her thigh, inviting him to use her lap as a pillow. He shot up and turned himself around.

He settled in, putting his left arm under her left leg and his right arm over it. She lifted and flapped out the blanket, pulling it over both of them, then she rested her head on the edge of the cot. She took Spike's right hand in both of hers, and closed her eyes, falling asleep in the silence of the basement.

* * *

Spike woke briefly during the night, only to find Buffy's head nestled in his arms. He wondered where the ponce had gotten off to, but then dismissed it. He didn't care where Angel was. Buffy was here, with him.

He kept vigil, watching her, stroking her hair, infinitely gentle. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead.

_May you find some comfort …

* * *

_

Morning broke, the fearful phantoms solid and real. But the tenderness was there, too, as Buffy opened her eyes and gazed at Spike's sleeping face. Sometime during the morning he must have woken. He'd contorted his body on the cot so he could hold both of her hands in his and turned his head to look at her face.

He looked peaceful in sleep, a boy again. She gazed at him, a woman born, a lover, a mother, a sister. Someone powerfully connected to William, who might, soon, have to watch his true love die.

She pulled back the blanket and looked down at Angel. He was like a stone in her lap, he'd fallen into such a deep sleep. With him she could be a girl again. He brought out the passionate Buffy and the carefree Buffy, a feat no one since had been able to accomplish. But also with him, she could be The Slayer.

A Champion.

He understood the sacrifices necessary. He'd made a lot of them. Unlike Spike, he would accept her death, grieve for his lost love, and continue on with his mission of redemption.

She was so proud of him. In four years, he'd managed to find a piece of the world all to himself. He made the journey through life steadily, though not technically. He'd made friends, he'd lost them. He'd felt the sting of betrayal and the sweetness of new love. He'd had heartache and despair and nearly been lost in the darkness he was forced to live in.

And yet, here he was. Fighting the good fight, simple because it needed to be fought and there were too few willing to stand on that front line.

She loved him so much.

Quietly, gently, she slipped out from under him, replacing his bag under his head. She stretched, then got a pen and some paper and wrote three notes: one to them both, and one to each individually.

* * *

_Who is't? Oh, it is my lady, it is my love…_

Spike drowsed, smiling, and reached for Buffy.

But she wasn't there.

He heard a noise, and opened his eyes to see Angel zipping the fly on a pair of black jeans. He pulled on a light blue shirt, and turned to see Spike wake up as he did the buttons on his dress shirt.

"She left in the afternoon. There's a note."

Soberly, Spike took it and began to read:

_William,_

_I appreciate everything you've ever done for me. You're a good man, one of the best I've known. You were there for me when no one else was, and I'll never forget it. _

_You get me, Spike, and not many do. _

_Please understand. I have to do this next step alone. It isn't you; as you can see I left Angel behind, too. _

_As for the choice … I'm afraid I can't explain it in words. I don't have the soul of a poet, like you. I think, at the end, my heart always belonged to Angel, and always will. Even when he broke it, I loved him. _

_But you are a good friend in your own way. I can never thank you enough, or begin to repay you. _

_Buffy_

Spike folded the note and stuck it in his pocket. There was another open note on the table, and he glanced at it, pulling off his shirt.

_To my two Vampires: _

_Remember.  
__Live on. _

_Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
__Sunnydale, California, May 11, 2003_

He snorted as he pulled on a fresh shirt. He'd remember, all right. He looked up, his eyes following Angel as the elder vampire grabbed a few stakes and rushed out. Spike finished changing and hurried to catch up.

* * *

Buffy's words swam through Angel's head as he walked briskly down Revello Drive. Five words she'd left him, in addition to the three short words that graced the note to both of them. But that was okay.

He'd been in this business long enough to learn exactly what needed to be said.

"_I love you_," she'd written, and "_I'm sorry_." Five words that encapsulated everything. If she had said them verbally, he might have been able to leave it at that.

He just needed one last thing, in order to be sure she could handle this fight without him.

And so, he headed in the direction Willow had told him to find the location of those pagan burial grounds. He was due one last talk with Buffy.

* * *

A cemetery.

A Slayer.

A scythe.

Panama.

Buffy walked through the clean, well-kept graveyard, past the many headstones she knew so well. Then, she got to the place where those who had died in less than good graces had been stashed – down among the weeds and thistles. The gravestones here were tilted, sparse – forgotten.

She looked around, and finally spotted a tomb, Egyptian-looking in design.

She tried to find a way to open the door, then finally gave up and pushed it down, sending up a plume of dust that swirled and eddied like a ghost before it dissipated.

She entered cautiously, amazed at the thick layers of dust coating the walls, thinking vaguely of mummy movies and wondering what weird context Andrew would put this in.

"I'd forgotten," a voice echoed in the dark.

Buffy whirled around, her scythe at the ready.

An old woman sat on a throne of … dust, her clothes so old and faded they appeared to be made of dust as well. Her face was sepia, her eyes: ancient.

"I'd forgotten how young you would be," she said. "It comes from the waiting. The mind plays tricks."

Buffy walked toward her, and the woman gestured at the scythe. "I see you found our weapon."

"Who are you?" Buffy asked cautiously, half-expecting her to turn into the First.

"One of many." The woman closed her eyes, opened them, looked far off through time. So much, so very much, but distant memory. "Well, time was. Now I'm alone in the world." She ticked her gaze toward Buffy. "I'd gamble you know what that's like."

She stood, approached Buffy – who stiffened and went on the defensive.

"Don't worry," the woman said. "You hit me, I'd just about crack in half. But then…" She scrutinized the scythe, keeping a respectful distance. "You have been doing some killing lately. And you're going to do a lot more. No wonder you're so anxious."

"So, who are you?" Buffy demanded impatiently. "Some kind of ghost?"

"Nope." The woman smiled faintly. "I'm as real as you are. Just … well, put it this way: I look good for my age." She said again, "I've been waiting.

She held out her hand, and waited. Buffy felt compelled to hand her the scythe. The woman hefted it appreciatively, and examined it.

"You pulled it out of the rock. I was one of those who put it there, and don't think _that_ was easy." She smiled more fully. "What is it?" Buffy pushed. "Weapon," the woman replied, as if it should be obvious. "A scythe. We forged it in secrecy for one like you who…"

She stopped and smiled at Buffy, still holding the scythe. She looked like a Tarot card, wonderful and old and mystical.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What's your name?"

"Buffy."

The woman insisted, "No, really."

Buffy shrugged.

"Buffy." The woman tested her name out on her tongue. The she proceeded. "We kept it hidden from the Shadow Men, who-"

Buffy nodded sharply and lifted her chin. "Yeah. Met them. Didn't care for 'em."

The woman looked at Buffy with new respect, and handed the scythe back to her.

"Yes," the woman said. "Then you know. And they became the Watchers, and the Watchers watched the Slayers." She raised her brows and said proudly, "But we were watching them."

"Oh!" Buffy blurted, surprised. "So you're like … what are you?"

"Guardians," the woman supplied. "Women who want to help and protect you. This" she gestured to the scythe "was forged, centuries ago, by us. Halfway around the world."

Buffy glanced around. "Hence, the Luxor casino theme."

"Forged there, it was put to use right here," the woman continued. "Only once, to kill the last pure demon that walked upon the earth. The rest were already driven under.

"And then there were men here, and then there were monks. And the first men died and were sent away, and then there was a town."

She looked at Buffy. "And now there is you. And the scythe remained hidden."

Buffy took that in as best she could, although she was really only interested in the bottom line: "Does this mean I can win?"

The woman shrugged. "That's really up to you. "This" she reached out, running a finger along her flat side of the scythe "is a powerful weapon."

"Yes," Buffy said.

"But you already have weapons," the woman continued.

"Oh." Not what Buffy was expecting to hear.

"Use it wisely," the woman said, "and perhaps you can beat back the rising dark. One way or the other, it can only mean an end is truly near."

Then, just as she finished speaking, two hands reached in from the darkness behind her, and with blinding speed, snapped her neck.

She fell to the ground, dead.

Caleb stepped forward, over the body. He said pleasantly, "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that last part on account of her neck snapping and all. Did she say the end is 'near' … or '_here_'?"

* * *

High desert, high moon, and Xander was _fahrin' fahrin' auf der Autobahn_ when Dawnie made moanie noises.

Xander said, "Dawn, you awake?"

She squinted around, took in their black surroundings, looked at him. "What the hell happened?"

"Um … thought you might say that." He grimaced.

She grimaced back, angrily. "Actually, I meant to say, 'what the _hell_ happened?'"

"It was chloroform." He felt just sick about it.

"Color forms? What?"

"Chloroform. Are you still loopy?"

"Sorry about that," she said, dry as toast. "Someone knocked me out with _chloroform_. Xander! Talk to me! Where are we going?"

"Away," he said simply. Then he handed her a sealed envelope.

She opened it.

_Dearest Dawn, _

_Don't be angry with Xander. He did what I told him to do. This isn't the place for either of you right now. Please know that I love you and that everything I do is for you. I promised you once to show you this beautiful world, and I'm going to do everything I can to make that_

_ZZZZZZZZZot! _

Xander went rigid behind the wheel and slumped.

Dawn put down her stun gun, which she had slipped from her weapons bag while reading Buffy's note, and put her foot on the brake.

The note, she tossed into the back seat.

Then she pulled over, got out, dragged Xander over to her side of the car, walked around, slid in, hung a U, and went home.

* * *

As Buffy processed that Caleb was in the tomb with her, and that he had just killed the old Guardian, he grabbed the scythe and tried to yank it away from her, as simple as he had broken the woman's neck.

Buffy recovered, shaking off her astonishment, and whacked him in the side of the head with the handle end, moved to the other side and whacked him again, and went for a third time, three-times-fast.

Reeling, he let got of the scythe, and Buffy leaped back.

He rushed her, punching a column so hard that it dusted like a vampire. "You're not slipping out of this fight, girl," he said exultantly. "Don't you see? You can't stop me. I can just keep coming back for more." He grinned. "Like being reborn."

She lunged at him with the scythe; he ducked. She pressed her advantage, swinging and thrusting. He dodged each parry with amused ease.

Then he smiled broadly and stood upright, presenting her with a target. She swung hard at his neck; without looking, he shot a hand up and caught the blade in mid-swing, stopping it cold.

With the other hand, he punched Buffy so hard she went flying across the tomb and smacked the far wall, sending up dust as she fell to the ground … dropping the scythe.

They both raced for it, and Caleb got to it first.

But he couldn't keep it – she kicked the scythe from his hand and caught it in the same motion. Then she spun, clipping him behind the knees with the weapon's shaft and lifting him off his feet. He went crashing to the dusty floor.

_Now_, she thought, as she spun the scythe, stake-end first, and thrust it straight to Caleb's throat.

He caught it an inch before his face, twisting the scythe hard, sideways, sending Buffy flipping over. It was her turn for a smackdown.

Caleb seized the moment and jumped to his feet. Buffy staggered to hers, and he punched her in the face. She staggered back, and Caleb began to pummel her like a punching bag, each blow nearly enough to take her head clean off.

It hurt; each blow took something out of her. Although she tried to defend herself with the scythe, she wasn't making it.

"I gave you ample warning," he reminded her. "I told you not to interfere. And you chose not to heed. But you know what?"

His last word was punctuated by a blow so hard that it hurled Buffy right through a stone column. Dust plumed everywhere, and she sank into it, began to sink into herself…

"I was kinda hoping it would go this way," he finished, smirking. Then, with a grand gesture, he arced the scythe up over her head, and –

"Hey," said a male voice.

It was a voice Buffy knew.

A voice she loved.

The owner of that voice rammed his fist into Caleb's face and sent him spinning across the tomb. Dazed, he dropped the scythe, and it clattered to the ground.

Buffy squinted up. Not a dream, although she shouldn't have been surprised.

Angel.

He loomed over her, hand held out. She took it, and he lifted her to her feet.

"I was never much for preachers," he told her.

"Angel," she started, almost sounding exasperated. Exasperated, because she thought the note had been enough to satisfy his need to protect her all the time. Almost, because he had just saved her life. "You look timely."

Then Caleb got to his feet, and Angel moved in for the kill. But Buffy placed a restraining hand on Angel's arm. He glanced at her with an understanding expression.

"This one of those things you have to finish yourself?" he asked.

She nodded. "Really kind of is."

Livid, Caleb advanced as Buffy plucked the scythe up and stood her ground. He rushed her, raining down a series of lightning-fast blows on her.

She blocked each and every one of them with the shaft of the scythe.

Angel leaned up against a wall, enjoying the show. "You're so gonna lose," he called to Caleb. "She does this thing where…"

She dodged Caleb with a blurry-fast move.

"Ooh, yeah." Angel's pleasure was almost sensual. "I've missed watching this."

She swung the blade end of the scythe at her enemy. As before, he caught it again. But this time he shoved it back at her. She twisted out of the way, the stake end barely missing her as it imbedded in the wall behind her.

The Slayer pulled it free, then lowered it down and in one brutal motion, ripped it straight up – gutting Caleb from below.

She retracted the blade, and Caleb fell to the floor, raising dust, looking very dead.

"See?" Buffy said to Angel. Then she took a step back, exhausted and unsteady. "Under control."

She walked into him, and as he steadied her, he said, "You always are."

As worn down as she could be, she gathered herself inside his embrace, hugging him, letting go of the scythe and putting both arms around him. They stood together for a long, quiet moment. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tight, so tight she felt as if her ribs were going to break.

Buffy hadn't had this in a long time. Being so close to another person that it felt like she would be absorbed into his skin if he so much as tightened his arms again – _that_ was what it meant to be with Angel, and it had been so long…

He and Buffy looked at each other, separating a little, Angel finding her right hand with his left. "I love you."

"I love you," she returned. He pulled her closer and kissed her. His lips were soft and moist, gently yielding to pressure. He was a very good kisser, using the time to give and take, and pausing to make her more comfortable.

Slowly, her hands come around his shoulders, and she deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened and she flicked her tongue along his upper lip. His lips parted, and her tongue dove in.

Like a sparring match, their muscled organs danced, pushing in, then retreating. Buffy moaned soundlessly, breathing heavily through her nose. Angel's arms tightened, his hands pressing flat against her back.

And as they kissed, Spike watched from the shadows, resigned.

And a voice – Buffy's own – said from behind him, "That _bitch_."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

In the Egyptian tomb, more with the kissage as Angel and Buffy held each other. Angel knew, this was the last kiss they would share before the big fight. If she was smart, she would send him away, to prepare in case Sunnydale failed. But he wasn't sure she'd seen all the pieces yet. He didn't want to have to _tell _her he was leaving. Unless she asked him to go, anything else would devastate her.

He softly ended the kiss, and pulled back enough to say, "I'm here to tell you that-"

Just then, something hit Angel in the back of the head so hard that he went soaring across the room. He landed in the dust face-first, slamming to a stop against a wall.

It was Caleb, eyes black, ebony blood dripping like tears from them, and from his nose and mouth.

"You ready to finish this, bitch?" His voice was otherworldly, coming from everywhere.

Then he rushed her, swinging at her. Spike moved to help her, but she blocked the preacher with the scythe. His movements were halting, but his strength was greater than ever.

She stumbled back.

"Okay," she said sarcastically, "how many times do I have to kill you? Ballpark figure."

"You understand nothing!" he cried in reverborama.

He came at her, and they fought – lunge, parry, riposte – as he shouted at her, "You think you have power over me? I am everything. Everywhere!"

"Speech getting old," she informed him.

"Stupid girl!" He was a wild … entity as he came at her. "You'll never stop me. You don't have the ba-"

As he was saying it, she arced the scythe back and swung it up, right between his legs.

"Well, who does nowadays?" she asked him. A moment, and she used both hands to rip the blade upwards. His dark blood splattered her face as she finished the job.

One half of Caleb toppled to the right, and one half to the left. Praise God Almighty, he was torn asunder.

Angel got to his feet. Spinning around furious, he said, "Okay, now I'm pissed. Where is he?"

Buffy pointed to a spot on the floor to the left. He looked. Then a spot on the floor to her right. He looked. Then he looked back at her, impressed, and she smiled girlishly.

"He had to split." She snorted with darkish laughter and Angel just shook his head. "I'm sorry," she said, quelling herself. "I just, ahh … I haven't had a good pun in a while."

"That would still be the case," he darted at her.

She feigned being insulted. "Hey! My kill, my word play."

He reached to the sky. "I'm out of line."

"Well, I'm still glad you're here," she said adoringly.

* * *

From the shadows, Spike watched, his world shattering. The First murmured to him, "Yeah, she needs you real bad."

He thought of how he had shown her his heart: truth time on the way out the door, bein' terrified. Blowing up his barriers, letting her in, and then … of course. Of course.

As Spike looked on, the two lovebirds looked at each other, their hands running over each other's arms. Angel finally straightened, and he pulled something out of his pocket. "Remember this?" Buffy's eyes widened; she'd forgotten how tremendously gaudy and tacky that amulet was. Least, that was Spike's best guess; he felt that he didn't know this girl.

_Ah, c'mon mate. Sure you do. This is exactly what you expected. _

"Yeah, I remember," she replied. "Meant for a Champion. Someone ensouled, but stronger than human. Like me," she baited him.

"No," he repeated, just as firm as he'd been a few days ago, the night he'd first come into town. "I'm not going to risk you wearing it. Besides…" He grinned faintly. "You've already got that cool axe-thing."

She gave the scythe a bit of a pat and said, "Still with me in this fight?"

"'Till the end," he told her. "I'm yours, no matter what."

_Bloody moron_, Spike cursed himself. _Blinkin', soddin' fool …_

And he left the tomb, left the lovers, got the hell out of there and off again into the world without her, a world he knew so well….

…Hell.

* * *

Buffy looked at Angel lovingly and said, "No."

"No, what?"

"No, you're not going to be in this fight," she said.

She turned to go; he followed. He stopped her near the entrance and said, "Why not?" He already knew why, ultimately, but once again, he needed to be sure _she_ knew.

"Because I can't risk you," she told him calmly.

He was proud. She knew. Just to make totally certain, he hedged, "You need me in this."

"No." She shook her head. "I need you gone."

"Why?"

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. "If I lose … if this gets past Sunnydale, then it's days – or hours – before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front, and I need you to run it."

"If I'm here we have a better shot at capping this thing," he cautioned. He lifted the amulet in his hand. "I've read the files-"

"I've lived the files," she interjected, "and I … if I can't win this…" She gazed at him, her eyes clear, her voice steady. "It's my fight, Angel. It might be my last. But it's mine."

The pride and love he felt for her threatened to break his heart. He looked at her, and she knew there was a whole lot he wanted to say. And she also knew he wasn't going to say it.

Which was a good thing. Because she wanted Angel here. She needed Angel here. But she could not have him here.

Her heart began to pound. She felt on the verge of something, standing on a different kind of threshold. After a moment, he handed her the amulet. "I'll start working on a second front. Make sure I don't have to use it."

His hand was on hers. He turned to go, and she gave his hand a little tug.

"Angel, I …" He stopped and smiled a bit. She wasn't quite sure what she'd wanted to say to him, it had flown out of her head looking into his eyes. "We've got time, haven't we?"

He walked backward into the dark, smirking at her. "I ain't gettin' any older." He disappeared into the shadows, and she watched him go, remembering when they first met. He would glide away like that and disappear.

_But he always came back. I thought he was gone forever from my life, and yet, here he is again…_

_Or rather, here he _was_ again. I may die soon, and I will never see his face on this Earth…_

She went home, walked through the front door and found … _Dawn_?

Her little sister glared at her. Buffy, in turn, gazed over at Xander, who looked pained and sheepish. Anya was rubbing his head. Giles and Willow were there too.

As Buffy looked back at her sister, Dawn silently kicked her in the shin.

"Ow."

"Dumbass," Dawn growled at her.

Buffy looked over at Xander again, who simply threw up his hands and said, "Don't look at me. This is a Summers thing. It's all very violent."

Buffy said to Dawn, "You get killed, I'm telling."

And that was that.

Sensing the change in cabin pressure, Willow asked, "Did you find out anything about the scythe?"

Buffy seized the preening opportunity with glee. "I found out it slices, dices, and makes julienne Preacher."

"Caleb?" Giles asked, actually excited despite being British.

"I cut him in half," Buffy affirmed. "I'm not going to lie. It was pretty neat."

"Well, all right!" Willow cried.

"He had that coming," Anya concurred.

"Party in my eye socket and everyone's invited!" Xander yelled, then winced and said, "Sometimes I shouldn't say words."

Buffy waggled the scythe and said, "I did find out some history on this puppy. I'll fill you in. And … this." She held out the amulet. "Supposed to be powerful, don't know much more."

Giles looked at the ostentatious thing and asked, "Where'd you get this?"

"Angel," she said.

"Where is Angel?" Dawn asked.

"I sent him back to L.A.," Buffy said. "To prepare." She headed out toward the basement, turning back to add, "If we fail."

Xander cocked a brow at her. "Operative word 'if.'"

Anya added, "Operative word 'fail.'"

Dawn chirruped, "Or, Operative word 'Wheee!'" Lowered it, cricketed, "Nobody gets me."

* * *

Buffy went downstairs to the basement. Spike was sitting in the moonlight, shirtless, looking off. She wasn't certain how he would feel, since she had, essentially, split on him with just a scribbled note of explanation. But there was a flash of joy on his face that he could not conceal, and she warmed to her friend, relieved.

"Honey, you're home," he said in a slightly low tone.

"Yeah." She nodded, smiled.

"And you did it. Fulfilled your mission, found the holy grail, or the holy hand grenade, or whatever the hell that is."

"Right now we're going with scythe." She showed it to him. "You like?"

He looked it over, taking its measure, and replied, "Pointy and wooden is not exactly the look I want to know better, but it does have flair. I can see how a girl would ditch a guy for one of these."

"I'm sorry about that," she said sincerely.

"So where's Tall, Dark, and Forehead?"

"What's it to you? Can you smell him or something?"

He tilted his head, appraising her as he said, "Yeah, that; and I also used my heightened vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing him."

"It was a … goodbye," she said.

He gave her a look. "Most people don't use their tongues to say good-bye. Or, I guess they do, but…"

"Good, _good_," she said sarcastically. "I haven't had quite enough jealous vampire crap!"

"He wears lifts, you know."

She shook her head tiredly. "One of these days I'm just going to put you two in a room and let you rassle it out."

"No problem at this end."

"There could maybe be oil of some kind involved," she said, warming up to the idea.

He cut her off. "Where's the trinket?"

She paused. "The who-ket?"

"The pretty necklace your sweetie-bear gave you. The one with all the power." He gazed at her very calmly. "I believe it's mine now."

"How do you figure?"

"'Someone with a soul, but more than human,'" he quoted at her. "Angel meant to wear it, that means I'm the qualified party."

"It's volatile," Buffy told him. "We don't know…"

"You need someone strong to bear it, then," he informed her. He drawled, "You were planning on giving it to Andrew?"

She hesitated. "Angel said … this amulet is meant to be worn by a champion."

He deflated … until she held it out to him, and he understood. She was calling him a champion.

"Been called a lot of things in my time," he said.

"I want you to be careful," she said gently.

He smirked with self-referential irony. "You're talking to the wrong guy, love." He felt it. "This _is_ powerful."

A beat, as he turned it over in his hand. "Faiths still got my room," she murmured.

He frowned at her. "Well, you're not staying here! Can't buy me off with shiny beads and sweet talk. You've got Angel breath."

She looked down, accepting his decision.

"Won't just let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I've got my pride, you know."

She got up and started to go. "I understand," she murmured.

He moved quickly to block her. "Clearly you don't," he said, "since that whole 'having my pride' thing was a smokescreen."

She exhaled, very relieved. "Oh, good."

He joined in the relief effort, saying, "I don't know what I would have done if you'd gone up those stairs."

She touched his face with great tenderness. "Me neither. You're a dope, by the way."

He frowned, baffled. "I'm what?"

"You're a dope, and a bonehead."

He could only stare at her. "Have you gone _completely_ Carrot-top?"

She held up the scythe, and ranted sotto voce: "You see this? This may actually help me fight my war. It may be the key to everything, and one of the reasons I'm holding it is 'cause of you. Because of last night, he strength you gave me. I'm tired of defensiveness and weird mixed signals. I've got Faith for that." She took a deep breath. "Let's just get to the truth. I don't know how you feel about last night, but I'm not gonna-"

"Terrified."

She shifted, pulled back on the bed. _Okay. Honest. Real. Oh, my God, we're doing this._ "Of what?" she asked him.

"Last night was…" He looked down, gave his head a shake, closed his eyes. "God, I'm such a jerk. I can't do this."

"Spike…" she urged.

He couldn't look at her, but he could tell her. "It was the best night of my life."

Then he did look at her, eyes welling up defiantly, as he pointed at the scythe. "If you poke fun at me you bloody well better use that 'cause I couldn't bear it. It may not mean that much to you…"

"I just told you it did."

"I know, I hear you say it, but…" He made himself go on, his voice choking with emotion. "I've lived for sodding ever, Buffy, I've done everything – I've done things with you I can't even _spell_, but I've never … been close. To anyone, least of all you … until last night.

"All I did was hold you, and it was the best night of my life. So, I'm, yeah… terrified."

She leaned over, resting partly against his side. "You don't have to be."

He gazed down at her, hopeful, a bit guarded, daring to ask, "Were you there with me?"

"I was." She gazed back up at him.

There was a moment. Their moment. Theirs … and no one else's.

"What does that mean?" he asked her.

"I don't know." Her voice betrayed her fragility, her own fear. "Does it have to mean something?"

The spell was broken, albeit slightly. He backed off, not hurt so much as a wee bit detached. "No," he said. Then, "Not right now."

"Maybe," she said, "when-"

"No," he repeated, a firm grip on the magic of this moment, this bond. "Let's just leave it."

"'Kay."

"Tomorrow, we'll go be heroes."

"Can I sleep now?"

"You listen to me," he said quietly. "I've been alive a lot longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done tings I'd prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which does not always rush in the direction of my head. So I've made a lot of mistakes. A lot of wrong bloody calls." He maneuvered to face her on the bed. "A hundred plus years, only one thing I've ever been sure of: you."

He moved to touch her face and put his hand to her cheek. He urged her to listen, to see, what was in his heart. In his soul.

"Look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I tell you that I love you, it's not because I want you, or 'cause I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me."

His voice astonished her, moved her, as she listened.

"I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your strength, and your kindness. I've seen the best and the worst of you, and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are.

"You're one hell of a woman."

Buffy was silently crying. He could only smile at her kindly, containing his own emotions. "You're the one, Buffy."

Softly, she said, "I don't … I don't want to be the one."

"I don't want to be this good-looking and athletic," he riposted. "We all have our crosses to bear."

She smiled a little.

"Now…" he swallowed, "you get some rest."

No more words. A look, a moment, a soft inhalation, and a wish…. He wrapped her in his arms, and she put her head down on his chest.

No more words.

* * *

They slept spoon style, Buffy wrapped in Spike's arms, facing away from him. He slept, she could not.

She looked at his hand, resting on the bed in front of her, running her hand along it. After a moment, he rolled over, and Buffy took the chance to sit up. Got up, crossed to the window, and looked out on the world bathed in moonlight.

"Pretty, ain't it?" Caleb said right beside her.

She started, then recovered, reminding herself it was The First. "You're not him," she said.

"No, you killed him right and proper," he answered. "Terrible loss." He pulled a sad face. "This man was my good right arm. 'Course, it doesn't pain me too much. Don't need an arm." He smiled broadly. "Got an army.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "An army of vampires. However will I fight a bunch of… oh, _right_! I've been doing that for years!"

"Every day our numbers swell," he boasted. Then he sneered at her. "But then you do have an army of your own. Some thirty-odd pimply-faced girls who don't know the pointy end of a stake." He thought a moment. "Maybe I should call this off?"

Buffy asked, "Have you ever considered a cool name? Since you're incorporeal and basically powerless, you could call yourself 'The Taunter.' Strikes fear…"

"I will overrun this earth," The First proclaimed.

"You know how many people have said that to me?" Buffy shot back.

"I do," he assured her. "Since they all had a small part of me in them. Whereas I have all of me in me, so I like my chances somewhat better." His voice rose as if it were seeking the vulnerable, thin places in her soul to pour in his poison, and let it rot her from the inside out. "And when my army outnumbers the humans on this earth, the scales will tip and I will be made flesh."

"Talk on," Buffy taunted. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Then why aren't you asleep in your dead lover's arms?" His expression was cagey, his point well taken as she looked over at Spike and had no answer.

"'Cause he can't help you. Nor Faith, nor your friends. Certainly not your little wannaslay brigade. None of those little girlies will ever know real power unless you're dead. You know the drill."

Then Caleb morphed into the only person The First had never attempted to portray. Somehow, over the years, it was as though It had never dared assume the identity of the Chosen Warrior for the Powers That Be. While there would always be another Slayer, undead or alive there was only one

Angel.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched pure evil come in close, wearing the face of Angelus. He came in as close as possible, voice carrying truth – always the truth she never wanted to hear. "Into every generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world. She alone will have the strength and skill to fight the … well, there's that word again. What you are. How you'll die. All alone."

She took that in, said nothing for a minute. Wherever she went, she would always, once again, be connected to Angel – the real one. His bite had instigated that. Then she said, "You're right."

The First was bemused. "Mmm. Not your best, lover."

From across the room, Spike moved on his cot and cried out, "I'm drowning in footwear." His eyes flew open. He glanced at her and said, "Weird dream." When she didn't reply, he frowned at her and said, "Buffy? Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, then, "Yes. I just realized something." She stared at him as the steadiest calm she had ever experienced mingled with her warrior's blood. She was serene and highly charged at the same time.

She said, quite frankly, "We're going to win."

* * *

More coming soon! Only about 2 chapters left to finish this off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Later on that morning, Buffy spoke to the assembled Potentials. She paced as she spoke, and she could feel the tension in the room. Not all the girls were glad she was back, and some of the newbies didn't trust her at all.

"I hate this," she began. "I hate being here. I hate that you have to be here. I that there's evil, that it's growing, and I hate that I was Chosen to fight it. I wish, a whole lot of the time, that I hadn't been." She flashed a wry smile. "I know a lot of you wish I hadn't been, either."

Kennedy and Vi smiled a bit, others looked embarrassed.

"But this isn't about wishes," she went on, looking at their faces. She saw how young they were, how frightened. "This is about choices. I never had one. I was Chosen. And I accept that. I'm not asking you to accept anything. I'm asking you to make your own choice. I believe we can beat this evil – not when it comes, not after its army is ready, but now. Tomorrow morning I'm opening the Seal. I'm going down into the Hellmouth and I'm going to finish it once and for all."

They shifted, some gasping, others shaking their heads: _Another stupidly aggressive plan of Buffy's. She's going to get herself killed. _

"I've got strong allies: warriors, charms, and sorcerers, and I'll need them all. But I'll also need you. Every single one of you."

She looked at each one in turn. She memorized their faces. She read their hearts. "So now you're asking yourself, 'What makes this different? What makes us anything more than a bunch of girls getting picked off one by one?'

"It's true none of you has the power Faith or I have. I think both of us would have to die for a new Slayer to be called, and we can't even be sure that girl is in this room. That's the rule. So here's the part where you make a choice.

"What if all you could have that power? Now. All of you. In every generation one Slayer is born because a bunch of guys that died thousands of years ago made up that rule. They were powerful men." She pointed to Willow, and said things that made Willow so uncertain:

"This woman is more powerful than all of them combined. So I say we change the rules. I say my power should be our power. Tomorrow Willow will use the essence of this scythe, that contains the energy and history of so many Slayers, to change our destiny. From now on, every girl in the world who might be a Slayer, will be a Slayer. Every girl who could have the power, will have the power. Who can stand up, will stand up.

"Every one of you, and girls we've never known, and generations to come… They will have strength they never dreamed of, and more than that, they will have each other.

"Slayers. Every one of us.

"Make your choice. Are you ready to be strong?"

* * *

Down among the dead men, into the cavern Buffy, Faith, and a few of the girls went as more followed. And Spike, with the amulet around his neck. 

"Not to be a buzz kill, love," he said, "but my fabulous accessory isn't exactly tingling with power."

"I'm not worried," Buffy told him.

"I'm getting zero juice here," he went on. "And I look like Elizabeth Taylor."

"Cheer up, Liz," Faith said to him. "Willow's big spell doesn't work, won't matter what you wear."

"I'm not worried," Buffy repeated. But her voice said otherwise, and the others gazed in horror as they moved to the precipice. It looked out over an endless cavern. And in that cavern…

Thousands of Turok-han.

"I'm not worried," Buffy said, practically catatonic.

"Really?" whispered Rona. "'Cause I'm flashing back to Xander's whole bathroom speech."

"Buffy?" Amanda asked shrilly.

Buffy closed her eyes. "Now Willow now Willow now."

"Buffy?" This time Amanda almost screamed.

"I'm not worried!" Buffy proclaimed. "As long as Willow can work the spell before they … see us."

As one the vamps caught sight of the girls. Screaming, they charged.

"Willow," Buffy whispered.

…

"Sweet fancy Moses," Amanda gasped.

Buffy and Faith beamed at each other.

"You feel that?" Faith asked the Slayer.

"I really do," Buffy told the Slayer.

Faith looked ahead. The Slayers steeled themselves – dozens of them, ready but uncertain, pumped and hanging on … hanging in. Hanging tough. "Everybody, hold the line," Faith ordered.

"These guys are dead," Vi said coolly.

The first wave of vampires hit, frenzied evil spilling over the girls in a blur of teeth, axes, spears, talons, and muscles and no fear of pain or dying. They swarmed, enormous killing things, and the Slayers went into action.

Roundhouse kicks, uppercuts, sidekicks, leaps – punching and twirling in a battle dance such as the world had never seen before. They were to the Power born. Each Slayer, cloaked and anointed in the power, burned bright as they fought back the horde, slaying as if they had been doing it all their lives.

The Chosen, the valiant, heroes every one, the Champions of good, beating them back.

Spike held off others, but there were so many – the army of darkness was endless. But he fought, waiting for the amulet to bestow power, not waiting to wade into the war and hold the line. It was brutal, dark, and bloody. It was why there were Slayers, and why they were here, shimmering with Power.

On the precipice – the Pride Rock of Doom in the endless cavern – Buffy hovered near the edge, fighting every vampire she could touch. She tossed a Turok-han over the side, staked another, then took a couple of brutal hits.

A fearless warrior jumped through the Seal opening: Kennedy, shouting, "Buffy! Catch!" She hurled the scythe at the blonde.

Buffy caught it in mid-flight, not even looking back, and dispatched two vamps immediately. Kennedy was attacked and jumped high, kicking hard – pummeling the enemy with her newfound powers.

"Oh, I could get used to this," she exulted.

Spike fought as he never had before. Amanda, Vi, everyone was pumped, armed, and filled with it. War cries echoed over the frenzy. Faith, Buffy, vamps, and Slayers leaped at each other above the heads of the warring crowd. A sprawling, brawling, mob: Armageddon.

* * *

Having breached the line, some of the vampires saw the Seal opening and scurried up it. More followed. 

Robin and Giles heard them coming. Giles had rolled a cigarette – traditional last one before battle – and offered it to his comrade in arms. Robin declined. One last drag for Giles, and then he stamped it out.

They hoisted their swords to the ready.

* * *

In the atrium, Xander and Dawn prepared. She turned to Xander and said, "You were going to take me to _Oxnard_?" 

He shrugged. "I know some people there." He added, "you're in my blind spot."

She gingerly but swiftly changed sides with him.

* * *

In the north hall, Andrew and Anya geared up for the fight. "I think they're coming," Andrew said. 

Anya nodded, swallowed. Her heart was pounding so heard she could barely hear her own voice. "Oh, God," she said. "I'm terrified. I didn't think. I just figured _you_ would be terrified and I would be sarcastic about it."

Terrified indeed, Andrew whispered, "Picture happy things. A lake. Candy canes. Bunnies."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "Bunnies. Floppy, hoppy, _bunnies_," she said. Her sword came up, all fear gone.

* * *

The Turok-han made it up and through the Seal. They came barreling down the hall towards Giles and Robin, whose blades were up in defensive positions. _Vampires to the right of us, vampires to the left of us, volleyed and thundered._

They were a matched pair of warriors who fought expertly. Giles scored a beheading, but they were only managing to hold them off, being driven slowly back.

* * *

In the cavern, as Spike fought off in a corner, he was startled by a surge of power from the amulet on his chest. "Uh, Buffy?" he called, but she was in the heat of battle. "Whatever this things does, I think it's …" He cried out and dropped to his knees, stunned by pain. 

Buffy was oblivious, because the army of the bad was not getting smaller. She watched a Turok-han leap on a young Slayer and tear into her. The girl went down.

Faith battled her way over to Buffy's side, exhausted but game. She said, "Think it's too late to talk this thing out?"

Buffy called out to the girls, "Keep the line together! Drive them to the edge! We can't let them-"

_Pain. _

_Unbelievable pain._

She looked down to see the point of a sword extend from her belly, then retract. She had been run through.

Silence covered her thoughts. Vaguely, she realized that Faith was tackling the vampire who had stabbed her. Then, Buffy fell slowly to the ground, face first.

"Buffy?" Faith cried, running to her sister Slayer.

Buffy gazed up at her and rasped out, "Hold the line." She held out the scythe to Faith. There was a moment, then Faith took it. She stabbed the vampire behind her without looking at him. The she got crazy with battle frenzy, and started taking them out one by one.

A vampire got her around the neck from behind, then more joined it, dogpiling her. Her skin tore and the stench of the monsters assailed her. She tasted blood. Looking around, she saw Rona and shouted, "Rona!"

As she was buried beneath the vampires, she tossed the scythe to Rona – who took it and started hacking.

* * *

They were here. They were driving them apart – Andrew to the North Hall, Anya down the adjacent hall that led outside. 

_Okay with the dying, not with the pain_, Andrew thought. _Okay with that … not so much. God, I am so scared_.

Then a Bringer went down, holding out his sword like a limp noodle, as another Bringer jumped on him with a knife.

Anya slashed one, dropped it. _I'm winning! _

_I'm terrified!_

And then another one came from the side. She turned-

-_Mrs. Xander Harris, that is who I'll be…_

-_Aud. _

-_Anyanka_.

-Anya Emerson.

-and the Bringer gutted her. He stabbed her repeatedly.

And she was dead.

-_Forever, Anya_.

* * *

Spike. 

Searing pain wracked his body. He tossed away a vampire as confusion and pain contorted him. He clutched his stomach, burning from the inside out.

Amanda dropped right in front of Buffy, eyes wide. She was dead. Two more Slayers fell. Kennedy was backed against the wall, her weapon knocked from her hand. She was steadying herself, preparing.

On the ground, her vision hazy with pain, Buffy looked up to see black boots, long black legs in black suitpants, the edge of a leather duster … a face topped by dark, spiky hair.

For a brief minute she thought Angel had gone back on his word. That, once more, he had come to save her. But, of course, it was The First.

Not even Angelus could manage to put _that much_ evil in his eyes.

He clutched his chest. "Ooh, ow, Mommy!" The First mocked her. "This mortal wound is all itchy!" He leaned in and said softly, "Now you know how it feels, lover. You pulled a nice trick." He smirked and added, "Hey, you came pretty close to taking me down. What more do you want?"

Buffy pulled herself up on her hands, shaking with fury. She wasn't done yet. "I want you… to get out of my _face_," Buffy told him.

Then she rose: Resurrection. The First backed away, vanished.

Sweaty, bloodied, hair in her face, Buffy took a step forward. Two stumbling, hunched steps later Rona saw her and threw the scythe. Buffy caught it, and stood a little straighter.

She screamed, swinging the back of the weapon like a bat. She knocked five vamps back and over the edge in one blow.

As if her power communicated itself to Faith, the Dark Slayer kicked her way out of the dogpile and rose as if from the dead – also bloodied, yet also unbroken.

The tide turned then. The Power surged in all the slayers, and it used them to force the vamps back, many of them falling over the edge, and at least one Slayer going with them.

But they were on the offensive now. They were pushing and screaming as if reborn in the might throes of power. As they battled to save the world.

Spike staggered under the Seal opening, paused, and said "Oh, bollocks." Energy shot up from within him, straight through, like a geyser. It pierced the seal and burst through Robin Wood's office floor.

It narrowly missed the still-prone Willow. She watched in astonishment as the brilliant plume crashed through the ceiling. It bathed her in sunlight and she murmured, "I didn't do that."

The sun hit Spike hard. He was pinned, pain and something else building inside him. He called out to his dearest love: "Buffy…"

She saw him and raced over. "Spike!" she shouted – and had to dive out of the way as a prismed ray of pure, soulful sunlight blasted out of the amulet and into the cavern. In an instant, thousands of vampires were incinerated.

Then the teeming cavern began to tear apart: walls crumbling, rocks tumbling like bombs. The ground shook and the foundations roared.

"Everybody out! Now!" Faith yelled. The girls fought their way to the exit. Everything was shaking.

Buffy came to Spike. He remained pinned in place, energy still blasting from him. "I can feel it, Buffy," he murmured.

"What?" she asked, choking with emotion. She fought to keep present, to be here for him. She didn't want him to die alone.

"My soul." He gazed at her with wonder. "It's really there." Grinned faintly. "Kinda stings."

As the cavern fell, Buffy tried to stay with Spike, but he said to her, "Go on then!"

Buffy shook her head. "You've done enough, you can still-"

"No," he managed, burning. "You beat 'em back. It's for me to do the cleanup."

Faith called from the entrance of the cavern, "Buffy, come on!" She ducked some falling debris and disappeared from the entrance, leaving Buffy alone with Spike. Debris plummeted around them as well.

"Gotta move, lamb," Spike said tenderly to her. "I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer."

The cavern was collapsing at the top and bottom, the actual school falling in on the vampires. "Spike," Buffy begged.

"I mean it. I gotta do this." His hand was held up, frozen in his pictus of revelatory pain. Buffy took her own hand, interlocked it with his. After a moment, both of their hands burst into flames.

They ignored the fire, looking at each other. "I love you," she told her friend, shaking.

_And there it is, then. That girl, Cassie, she told me she would say it. She didn't tell me how, or when, but it's been said. Now I can go._ He smiled kindly. "No, you don't," he told her. "But thanks for saying it."

A quake rocked them, and Spike pushed her away. "It's your world up there. Now _go_!"

She looked at him, then went, bolting for her life while Spike gazed at the destruction in front of him. He smiled wickedly, saying, "I want to see how it ends."

* * *

The Slayers ran out of the Seal room and through the halls. Their footfalls clattered as they raced from the collapsing building. 

Giles was helping Robin, who saw the girls and said to him, "The bus! Get 'em on the bus!"

"Everybody!" Giles yelled to them. "This way!"

Toward the buses, and final safety, Kennedy was helping Willow. Dawn was pulling Xander, who was calling out, "Anya! Anya!"

* * *

Beneath the debris and fallen Bringers lay a still form, who would not be leaving – the fallen heroine, Anya. 

Near her, Andrew was completely dumbfounded as he stabbed his attacker. The Bringer fell down dead, Andrew's sword in his chest. Andrew was bloodied but alive, and completely astonished by that fact. "Why?" he murmured.

A Slayer rushed to him, grabbed him, and hauled him out.

* * *

The bus was outside the high school as the structure collapsed. Robin shut the door and peeled out. 

At the very back, alone in the crush, Dawn searched for her sister. "Buffy," she murmured.

* * *

Buffy headed for the door out of the basement, but it was blocked. She moved quickly to the stairs. 

Below, in the cavern, Spike smiled. He was gonna die a hero. Die a Champion. Die good.

Then, a hand reached out and yanked the amulet off his neck.

* * *

* * *

Chapter 7/the Epilogue, will not be posted until October 21st. This is because of the cliff-hanger ending of this chapter. I'm posting this on my Yahoo! groups, and don't want anyone to find out the ending before anyone else. The world will find out at the same time. So, you'll all have to wait until then!

Allen Pitt: I suppose you're right about the thing with Robin, but I wanted to make a point that it's _Angel_doing it, in defense of his Childe/Grandchilde. I like the comraderie that developed between the two vampires on Season 5 of Angel, and wanted to explore it a bit sooner.

White Wolf 3: Good point about the mansion. I didn't think of that, but it makes perfect sense. And, I realize there was some discontinuity - I think it stems from the fact that I took all these scenes that worked out rather perfectly on the show, added Angel to them - and it didn't quite work as well with him there. Also, I'm not a fan of Kennedy. As she says, she's kind of a brat - and I can't stand her. So I cut large portions of her "internal dialogue" as it was written in the novelization. That left me with some rather gaping holes in the resulting scene(s).

Thanks all for reviewing, you guys are great! MCP


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The bus rolled on, far ahead of the cracking earth. If any of the passengers had thought to look, they would have seen a black stretch limo speeding _towards_ the Hellmouth a mile off their left side. But Faith crouched beside Robin, staunching his wound as Giles wrapped a tourniquet around a wounded Rona.

She was fading, and Vi was in her face, yelling at her, "Stay awake! Look at me! This is nothing!"

Andrew sat by himself, bewildered and staring ahead into space. "Why didn't I die?" he questioned.

Xander tended a Slayer, lost in his fears for Anya. Kennedy held Willow, who was still exhausted and drained.

Dawn wasn't looking to the side, didn't notice the limo rushing at break-neck speed for the collapsing building. She was worried that her sister had left her, as her mother had. That they were both gone.

And then she saw her sister running along the rooftops. Jumping off one building and onto another and the bus trundled down the street. Windows, beams, and girders began to crack and bend as their foundations crumbled. Buffy kept going, leaping like a free captive and landing hard on top of the bus.

* * *

Spike fell forward as the amulet's power released him. The power was transferred, to the only person who could have borne it. The only one who would have bothered to make such a dumb sacrifice for someone he hated.

Angel.

Making sure Buffy didn't know he was here, he'd patrolled the sewer tunnels leading to and from the school shortly after he left her – being trapped in by Faith and Robin. Action had been scarce until the ground began to shake. Angel had sped in the direction of the tremors, finding a way into the cavern courtesy of a crumbled wall.

The Powers had smiled on his venture, and his sewer tunnel exited eight feet from where Spike was pinned to the wall by the amulet's magic. Angel crawled over to his Childe, his thoughts filled with memories of his last glimpse of Connor.

His blood flowed now in two other men besides himself – much as he hated the idea. His love for Connor was unconditional. It came from the Dark Warrior regardless of all the pain the teen had inflicted on his father.

Spike, now that he had a soul, was a bit like that. Angel found himself – well, look where he was! – wanting to help his Childe get used to the burden of his soul. Spike was another person who needed help. His help.

And helping people in need was his mission in life.

Reaching out a hand, he stopped the amulet's process briefly before taking the burning energy on himself. He gritted his teeth as the strain of bearing the Power weighed on his body. The shaft of sunlight switched angles, beaming down on Angel as he tried to move Spike to the sewers. He screamed in pain, pushing the blond – who was partially eaten from the inside by the power – into the tunnel. Angel dived, and the world fell away behind him.

* * *

Buffy held onto the bus, looking over the back of the vehicle at the cracks chasing them. The entire town was sinking into a smoking black crater, a tiny bus just making its way to the edge of the town ahead of the destruction.

Inside the bus, Faith looked out and said to Robin, "Ease off. We're clear."

The bus screeched to a stop. Buffy jumped off and the occupants started piling out. Dawn opened the back door and jumped out. She ran to her sister and they embraced. Warmth, solidity.

Xander knew. The moment he saw Andrew, he knew. Still he asked him, "Did you see?"

Andrew was near tears. "I was scared. I'm sorry."

He pushed, harder than he had ever pushed for anything in his life. "Did you see what happened?" He searched Andrew's face. "Was she…?"

Andrew gazed at him. The tears were there, and so was the answer: "She was incredible. She died saving my life."

_God, no. Oh, God, no…_ Xander put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. "That's my girl. Always doing the stupid thing." The tears were there, and so was the answer:

_I do, Anya. I do._

Then it was just Faith and the guy who figured he was some big hot surprise. She checked out his big hot wound and lied through her teeth. "It's not bad. You just sit here."

"That's the plan," he gritted out.

Faith said, "I'll get someone to-"

"Did we make it?" He looked at her. "Did we make it?"

She gave him the word. "We made it. We won."

He smiled a little, and then he was just staring. And still.

_Damn_. Faith took a moment to contemplate what had been, might have been, and moved to close his eyes.

Then he coughed, spasming back to life. She drew back her hand, as startled as he was. "Surprise," he whispered.

Outside, Sunnydale was a smoking black crater. Buffy and Giles walked toward the edge of it, smoke rolling before them. "I don't understand," he said. "What did this?"

"Spike," she mourned. But she was glad for him. Glad of him. _Rest, Spike.

* * *

_

But he couldn't. Not yet.

What was left of his arm – what hadn't been burned off by the amulet's spell – was slung over Angel's shoulders. The elder vampire – his Sire, now and forever – had one arm wrapped around his back and the other hand clamped on Spike's dangling wrist. With demonic speed coursing through his legs, his feet taking giant, leaping steps, Angel hurried to the end of the sewer pipe, the town of Sunnydale imploding into the Hellmouth crater behind him.

The demon with the face of an angel – a face now burned horribly – looked on in astonishment as he saw a gray-clad figure waving at the end of the tunnel.

"Mr. Angel!" he heard. "Mr. Angel, down this way! Hurry!"

"Simpson? What the hell are you doing here!" He staggered under Spike's weight. "Never mind! Come help me!"

"Yes, sir. I'm trying to, sir." The chauffer picked his way, somewhat comically – like a blond bimbo in five-inch spiked heels and a mini-skirt – over some rubble in the sewer. When he reached the two vampires, he took charge of Spike, saying, "Wolfram and Hart would terminate my contract of employment if you died out here, Mr. Angel. It just wouldn't be suitable."

They made it to the end of the tunnel, and to the black limo. Angel dove inside, then held out his hands and gently pulled his brother-in-arms – his Childe – into the backseat.

Checking over Spike, he made sure the blond had stopped burning and was stable as Simpson peeled out of the shadows and raced to safety. Bouncing in the back seat, Angel opened the chilled mini-bar. He pushed some things around, then called to the front, "Don't you have any blood bags?"

Anthony called back over his shoulder, "I'm sorry, sir, but the heated dispenser is still hooked up to a human blood bank. Our mechanics hadn't stored up enough porcine blood to fill it when you called for a car and driver."

"Dispenser?" He looked around.

"Lift the door above the mini-bar, sir."

Underneath, he found what looked like a coffee machine. He grabbed the ceramic mug and held it under the spout, pressing a button with a cup icon on it. Hot, thick blood filled the mug.

Angel drew it to his lips, being careful not to spill it with the rough ride. He drank it quickly, then poured another cup, feeling the hot plasma restore his energy and being to work on healing his face. With two cups of hot B-negative in him, he turned to Spike.

Angel cut a slit in his wrist and presented it to his Childe. Spike's mouth latched onto it, and Angel grunted. The blond fed greedily, the Blood of his sire's Sire working its magic on him. Internal organs knit themselves back together, the metaphysics pushing buried skin cells to the surface, making his burned, sun-eaten flesh look like new.

Spike felt the change, and pulled away abruptly. He banged back against the seat. "Why?" he managed weakly.

Angel poured another cup of blood for himself, and one for Spike, too. He gave his fellow warrior the only answer he could. The only one that mattered: "Fathers'll do stupid things like that when their child is in danger."

Spike stared at him, stunned. Angel continued, "No matter how much they may not like their sons, no matter that their sons are trying to take away the woman they love, the feeling of fatherhood is still there."

As Anthony Simpson drove the limo away from the circular edge of total destruction, Angel told Spike about Connor. Told him about how the teen had not been raised in a loving environment, and how Angel had _almost_ gotten through that exterior – and how Justine had ruined that growing bond.

"You were that same way," Angel commented. "I mean, we were demons, yeah, but still…"

"My mother didn't love me anyway," he remarked softly.

"And now you're stuck with a soul. I had a hundred years to get used to mine, and things are still new. I feel like a father all over again. Or, maybe a big brother. I feel like I'm supposed to show you how to cope with this change, just as I would show you how to be a proper vampire."

"Buffy helped a lot," Spike said.

"Probably, but she doesn't know what it feels like to sink your teeth into a beautiful neck and how to taste the difference between innocent blood and scum."

The conversation slowed to a stop in tandem with the car's momentum.

* * *

The sign that read Welcome to Sunnydale toppled backward into the crater, the fillip on the town's demise. Girls milled about, counting their losses and checking in. Processing that they had not only survived, but prevailed.

Buffy and Dawn stood with Giles, Xander, and Willow, a bit apart. Then Faith came up to join them as they all gazed out at the end of Sunnydale.

"Looks like the Hellmouth is officially closed for business," Faith commented.

"There is another one in Cleveland," Giles observed. "Not to spoil the moment…"

"We saved the world," Xander breathed.

"We _changed_ the world," Willow corrected him. Her eyes were shining as she looked at her best friend. "I can feel them, Buffy. All over. There are Slayers awakening everywhere."

"We'll have to find them," Dawn said.

"We will."

Giles sighed theatrically. "Yes, because the mall was actually in Sunnydale, so no hope of going there tomorrow."

Dawn choked. "We destroyed the mall? I fought on the wrong side."

"All those stores gone," Xander waxed sadly. "The Gap, Starbucks, Toys 'Я' Us… Who will remember these landmarks unless we tell the world of them?"

"We have a lot of work ahead of us," Giles said.

Faith appealed to the group. "Can I push him in?"

"You got my vote," Willow said, grinning.

Faith yawned, stretched. "I just wanna sleep, yo. For like a week."

"I guess we all could," Dawn said. "If we wanted to."

"Yeah. The First is scrunched, so…" Willow looked at Buffy. "What do you think we should do, Buffy?"

Faith grinned at the Slayer. "Yeah, you're not the one and only Chosen anymore. Just gotta live like a person. How's that feel?"

Buffy looked at the Slayer.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked her big sister. "What _are_ we going to do?"

Buffy looked at her loved ones, then back at the crater. As she considered the question, she noticed the black stretch limo skirting the far edge of the crater and driving in their direction. Where the hell did that come from?

She realized she'd spoken aloud when Faith said, "I don't know. It ain't Angel's car; he's got a convertible."

Buffy said absently, "But he didn't drive here, he got a ride."

They all waited for the limo to reach them.

Shortly after it pulled to a stop, a very proper, _very_ English chauffer opened his door. He doffed his hat and came towards the group.

As he neared, Buffy raised an eyebrow at his pants – the bottom of each grey cuff was dusted with dirt. She looked back up at his face as he walked up to her.

"Miss Summers?" he asked in a cultured voice.

"Yes?"

"Yeah?" Dawn echoed.

Buffy glared at her little sister, but Dawn just gave her a look.

"My name is Simpson," the driver said. "If you two ladies will join the gentlemen, we will lead you to a hotel you can use for your comrades."

Buffy frown and uncrossed her arms. She and Dawn exchanged glances, and they moved as one to the rear door of the limo.

The window powered down, and Buffy poked her face inside the dark interior. "Angel?" she squealed, and she dove in to give him a kiss.

He caressed her face, then looked pointedly at the seat opposite him before she could speak.

Her jaw dropped when she looked. "Spike?" she whispered, leaning in to touch him, reassure herself he was real. She was stopped by the car door, and backed up. She opened the door, telling Dawn to get in.

Her little sister did so, squealing and giving each vampire a hug. "Hiya squirt" and "'ello Nibblet" reached Buffy's ears as she straightened up and looked back at the bus.

She trotted over to the group. "It's Angel," she explained. There were smiles all around, although Chao-Ahn looked on blankly. "Is the bus ready to go?" she asked.

Giles nodded. "I'll drive."

"Good." She addressed the girls. "We've got a free place to stay for a while. Let's all get back on the bus and head for LA."

* * *

Angel tried not to move as Buffy entered the limo and stooped, giving Spike a brief kiss on the cheek. She then sat next to him, leaving Dawn to take the seat behind the driver.

The elder vampire smiled down at the blond goddess nestled in his arms. "What are you doing here?" she asked, basking once more in his presence.

"Had to save a comrade."

She raised her eyebrow and glanced at Spike. "What's the real reason?"

The two vampires looked at each other, and in that gaze an understanding came to pass – one both of them could live with. It wasn't something that required words. Just a look, and decades of clan living.

"It's too weird," Angel said, at the same time Spike said, "It's too strange, pet."

The Sisters Summers looked back and forth between the vampires, who suddenly seemed to have turned themselves into a stereo system. Buffy frowned and traced the line of Angel's jaw with one finger. He smiled down at her, and she gazed at him with love and happiness.

"Wake me in a week, 'kay?"

He rested his head on hers as she shifted to a more comfortable position. He softly ran his fingers through her hair on the drive to LA.

* * *

Spike moved Dawn slightly so she wouldn't be jostled when he joined Angel in looking forlornly out the window. The afternoon smog wasn't quite enough to block out the sun shining down on Norton Avenue.

"Won't be able to go that way," Spike commented.

"No," Angel replied. After a while he said, "Simpson?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell the girls to unload here, and then take us down that alley," he pointed. "I'll show you the back entrance."

"Certainly, sir." He got out of the car and walked over to the bus, where he spoke to Giles and Faith. When he started walking back to the limo, the Slayers were stepping off the school bus, some talking, others looking up at the Hyperion.

The limo turned down the side street and pulled into a covered parking area. Each vampire emerged with a Summers girl in his arms – Angel cradling Buffy, and Spike gently tossing Dawn over his shoulder.

They went up through the hotel, and Angel put the girls in Connor's old room. Then he headed back downstairs to make introductions.

He found Giles and Wesley deep in conversation, and Fred was trying to get room keys straightened out while talking on the phone – presumably to Gunn.

Angel stepped behind the desk and took over for Fred. He gave Faith and Willow the keys to the rooms they'd had in March, and figured things out from there.

When all was said and done, he tossed a wave to the two Watchers, who were still talking, and headed upstairs to his own room.

* * *

Angel let Buffy sleep for the entire week following the destruction of Sunnydale. Meanwhile, he slipped into the Scoobies' talks, merging the Fang Gang in. He offered the resources of Wolfram & Hart in finding the other Slayers out there, also calling his contact there to get Spike put on the payroll.

It was a time of business for the crew members of Angel Investigations, and Fred left for her apartment each day bleary-eyed and tired. Lorne's first appearance might have shocked the Sunnydale contingent had he not entered singing "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!" from the musical Oklahoma!.

Angel had smiled as the Pylean native's voice echoed through the spacious lobby. Some of the girls had cried out in surprise, but they had first looked at him as though he were wearing a costume. When Willow had explained, the Slayers were slightly wary. But Lorne's infectious good mood had quickly caught on.

Angel hoped it would last. Because when Buffy woke, explanations were in order. And then, the business of Slayers, Inc. would begin.

* * *

"You signed on with _what_?"

"Buffy, calm down," Angel tried.

"Angel, didn't' you once tell me that law firm is Evil, Incorporated?"

"Yes, and with us at the helm, we can fight the system from within. Buffy, listen." He paused while she took a deep breath and uncrossed her arms. "Come with me, have a look for yourself. It's what convinced everyone else."

Seeing she was still unconvinced, he said, "They're who I got the amulet from."

She immediately deflated. They might not have won the battle under Sunnydale quite so decisively if not for Spike and the amulet.

"Besides," he continued, smirking, "there's this one room you really have to see." He leaned in, grasping her shoulders and running his hands down her arms.

She frowned at him, but soon gave in and let him hug her.

"Now, you've had your time to sleep. Why don't you come downstairs and hear what's been suggested?"

Buffy blearily stepped back, sluggish with too much sleep. She took Angel's arm and was led on a brief tour.

Several of her friends – Dawn, Xander, Willow – teased her as she walked through the halls of the Hyperion. Faith gave them a little wave, which Angel returned, and called over to Buffy, "It was a good idea, B, wasn't it?"

The blonde nodded. "How long did you sleep?"

"Four days."

"What's the sitch?" They moved over to where the brunette was standing.

"I'm not sure. Red and Lil' Sis are gonna stay here for a while, get some kind of center up an' runnin'. Giles and Andrew are going to London to try and rebuild Council Headquarters. Some of the girls are making arrangements to get back home, but a lot of them are just hanging here."

Buffy nodded and was going to ask about Spike, Xander, and Robin, but Faith continued: "Angel's made us a pretty sweet offer. Me and Red are all for it, but Giles doesn't like it at all. He's got issues with the…" She trailed off, looking over at Angel.

He finished, "He doesn't like the deal I made with Wolfram& Hart."

"Yeah, they're evil. We just got done fighting evil," Buffy commented.

Angel gave her a look she didn't catch. "You're never done fighting," he said.

"Well…" She thought. "Can't you take a break for a while?"

"Yeah. Just as soon as Jenny Calendar walks through that door."

Buffy snuggled closer to his side and said softly, "That wasn't you and you know it."

"That doesn't stop me." Stop him from feeling remorse, from feeling guilt, from remembering every vivid detail, from wanting to atone. Or from trying. "And you know that."

She nodded sadly. "That I do." He let her into his office and she asked, "So, what's this grand proposal Faith was talking about?"

"I'd like to sell you guys the hotel and help you set up a business organization to handle the aftereffects of Willow's spell."

"You want to sell us _this_? For how much?"

"Oh, about twenty dollars."

She smiled at him. "I don't know if I want to run a business. I think I want to see the world, keep my promise to Dawn and show it to her."

He was silent for a long moment, swinging slightly in his chair and staring into space. "That might be good for you," he said finally, trying to support her decision. "There's a lot of world out there to see, and some of it's quite beautiful." He murmured quietly, "I'd like to see it with you, but that's your decision."

She walked around the desk and stood by his side. "It'll be nice to just … be a person for a while, you know? Not The Slayer, or The Chosen One, of the head of the household, but … Buffy. It'll be nice to do things without worrying again."

He was quiet. He doubted she'd be able to stay away from the game so completely – the cry of the helpless was too entrenched in her blood. But, she would certainly try, and he couldn't fault her for that. "When do you think you'll leave?"

"I don't know. When I'm ready?"

Angel smiled at her, his eyes softening with love.

Buffy beamed back at him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms came up around her waist, and he kissed her collarbone.

They had time, she repeated to herself.

They had all the time in the world.

_fini_

Author's Note: That's it! That's the end of my involvement. Did Dawn stay in LA, or go with Buffy? What did Buffy say/do upon seeing Angel in the sunlight thanks to the necro-tempered glass? Did she actually leave LA to go see the world? Did the Slayers ever find out about Angel being a vampire?

These are all good questions, but none will be answered by me. I have no thoughts on the answers to those questions. I am not going to write a sequel to this. I "pass on" permission for anyone else to pick up the baton and take this story to the next level, but I consider it finished. Maria P.


End file.
